


My Shadow and My Light

by hope_s



Category: Ocean's 8 (2018)
Genre: (mostly), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Timeline, Developing Relationship, Drug Use, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/F, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:27:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 41,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27650641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hope_s/pseuds/hope_s
Summary: CW: Drug UseDebbie only bought the drugs in case of emergencies, she never expected to use them.But Lou has built a whole life without her. Lou has said she'll walk.And sometimes desperate times call for desperate measures.“I would know my shadow and my light/so should I at last be whole...Here is no final grieving/but an abiding hope…” - Michael Tippett, A Child of Our Time
Relationships: Lou Miller/Debbie Ocean
Comments: 157
Kudos: 104





	1. Waking from a Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Quite some time ago, I received an anonymous ask on Tumblr about what would happen if Debbie became an addict in prison and struggled with recovery after she got out. I've complicated that premise a bit in this fic, as you'll see! 
> 
> There are a couple more prompt ideas that wormed their way into this fic, but I'll note them as they arise because spoilers. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me and been so, so patient! I'll be posting on Saturdays :)

Flashing lights and the deafening chatter of a hundred cameras.

The noise was so constant, so complete, that Debbie could do nothing but block it out, could focus only on the path she had to take.

A thousand dresses and capes – blue, purple, gold, reflecting the lights of the cameras and the late afternoon sun that peaked under the pristine white canopy above the chaos.

There was a woman with a list, then a staircase – blood red carpet stretched taut against white marble. Crimson on white always made her stomach churn, ever since that day in the showers. Debbie gritted her teeth and kept walking. It would ruin everything if she threw up now. The puking was meant for someone else, she just wasn’t sure _who_ . Not that it mattered, at least she didn’t _think_ it did. Debbie kept her eyes on the stairs in front of her, resolutely putting one foot in front of the other.

There were decorations, but she couldn’t put them in focus. She slipped past Anna Wintour, eying her watch with professional interest as she avoided the line of people shaking hands. Her palms were sweating, itching. She could already feel the diamonds against her fingertips.

Champagne helped, bubbles popping on her tongue, so sharp they almost hurt. 

She knew where to stand, where to move, how many steps to take from one exhibit to the next. She kept her eyes fixed on the middle of the room, on the paper doll people in fancy clothes. No one in the room looked twice at her. It was the people _outside_ of the room that were her concern. The red lights of each camera seemed to taunt her. Her watch – Danny’s watch – ticked far too quickly, and too soon, there was a silhouette – brightly colored, but as yet undefined – rushing across the room, and she followed, careful not to trip. She had rehearsed this, hadn’t she? She knew every crack in the floor.

The bathrooms seemed out of place in their normalcy – bland compared to the event itself. She had been here before. She would push open the door, she would unclasp the necklace, she would replace it with the fake. She traced those events to their conclusions – handcuffs, shouting, orange. She stopped.

_Once you’ve eliminated the impossible…_

The bathroom door was there, _right_ there, and the necklace was disappearing into it. But the blinking lights in the cameras looked a little different, and if she stayed here…

_Whatever remains, however improbable, must be…_

Debbie went to get another glass of champagne. She could feel the bubbles against her nose before the liquid hit her tongue. She had the sudden urge to sneeze; her eyes squeezed themselves shut, but the sneeze didn’t come. She opened her eyes. 

_The truth._

The wall before her looked different. There were still brightly colored costumes floating to-and-fro, but nothing was in focus. She blinked, but the scene didn’t change. The creamy marble on the floor was shimmering. Lights popped in front of her eyes. In the distance, she heard panicked voices. It had worked, then. They had gotten it, whoever _they_ were, whoever had been in the bathroom already. Debbie smiled grimly, heard the click of a camera flash. She raised the glass of champagne to her lips once more, but now the glass was full of the shards of diamonds. She made to set the glass down, but her lips touched the rim against her will, and her hand betrayed her, slowly tipping the gems towards her tongue. It took only seconds for the cuts to begin to form. She tasted blood as crimson as the red carpet on the stairs when she raised her thumb to her lip and swiped it over the broken skin.

Debbie choked, forcing her throat to close. She couldn’t swallow a mouthful of razors. That wasn’t part of the plan. Besides, _her_ diamonds didn’t look like this. They were already cut into perfect, rounded squares – not a ragged edge in sight. She willed herself to be sick as she rushed towards the bathroom, which was now abandoned. On the threshold she tripped, and pain shot through her left ankle. None of this made sense, and the sounds around her – she thought they would dissipate in here with a heavy door between her and the hall – were getting louder all the time. The flashing lights were back, only this time they weren’t cameras. It was as though she had stepped onto the subway, but the car she was in was dark, and all she could see were the flashes of lights outside the windows as the train hurtled past the fluorescent sconces in the rough walls of the tunnel. She almost gasped, but her mouth was full of diamonds, wedging themselves into her cheeks and gums. She breathed heavily through her nose and knelt on the shaking floor of the train car.

She seemed to be alone. With a great deal of effort, Debbie squeezed her eyes shut, released her jaw as much as she could, and pressed both fists to the hollow just beneath her ribcage, jabbing inwards and upwards. Vomiting was a relief – at least the stones were gone from her mouth, though the bile burned against the cuts they had made. She didn’t have much in her stomach – just a glass of champagne, really. It was always hard to eat on the day of a big job. _The job. The Met. The Toussaint._

Debbie tried to haul herself to her feet, but the train was picking up speed, and her ankle, which could very well be broken given the height of her Louboutin heels, protested. Her palms were sweating and itching again. Her stomach was queasy. She leaned her head back against something soft, something that breathed steadily. She could hear another heartbeat, a counterpoint to her own, which was hammering in her chest.

_Lou?_

She wanted it to be her. Was that selfish? To wish this horrible place on Lou? Wouldn’t it be more prudent to pray that she was somewhere, anywhere else? Her chest ached. Maybe she had swallowed some of the glass. That was an easier answer than trying to parse out everything that Lou made her feel. That was long ago, far away.

The train gathered speed, and the lights outside the windows became golden blurs. Then they grew brighter, though they illuminated _nothing_. Debbie was still leaning on someone behind her, but she couldn’t turn her head, couldn’t move at all. The white light drew closer, spread up her legs, hiding her own body from view. Debbie closed her eyes.

**

The blinding fluorescent light was still there when she opened her eyes, but this time, it was shining above her, contained behind frosted plexiglass. The sectioned ceiling was covered in little dots. She remembered trying to count them when she was in solitary. She always lost track, but it passed the time.

Slowly, carefully, Debbie sat up.

She blinked.

The cell was familiar – small, but not entirely bare. There were books in the corner – her own, mostly gifts from Tammy. There was a toothbrush and a pair of slippers. There was a postcard from Danny with nothing written on it. Debbie narrowed her eyes.

“You’re probably pretty confused,” a voice said, distorted by a speaker. 

She looked up and caught sight of Dina through the glass on the cell door, speaking into one of those little microphones that piped sound into the cell. Dina raised her eyebrows in the direction of the door, and Debbie nodded. She didn’t even let Dina halfway over the threshold before she spoke.

“Why am I in here? I can’t…Fuck.” Debbie coughed as the act of talking sent sharp pain through her throat.

Dina grimaced and leaned against the wall across from Debbie’s bed. “You did a lot of screaming.”

Debbie hated the feeling of losing control, and this…She didn’t know what day it was. Fuck, she couldn’t even say what _year_ it was. Her first day in solitary had been May 28, 2013, but she could have sworn she remembered typing 2014 into the computer in the rec room when her work assignment had been to print out notices for the stalls in the employee bathrooms. She made to get off the bed. She needed to move, to pace the tiny room like she often did when the anxiety became too much. But Dina stepped forward and grabbed her arm.

“Best not,” she said. She gestured towards Debbie’s left ankle, which was wrapped in a bandage. Debbie flexed it, and a dull ache spread up her leg.

“What…?”

Dina sighed. “It’s not broken; just sprained. I think you kicked the wall.”

“Why would I kick a wall, Dina?” Debbie asked sharply. Her voice sounded low and strange, ragged. It made her think of Lou, and Debbie tried to block that thought. It only made her feel uncomfortably warm.

“Someone – and no, I can’t tell you who,” she forestalled Debbie’s interruption, before continuing, “Someone drugged you. We think – _I_ think – that they were trying to get you a longer sentence. Drug possession – well, let’s just say you wouldn’t be getting out of here in four years. No way you’d be eligible for parole. No way in hell.”

 _Four years. 2014, then. But her memories were foggy._ “When was this?” Debbie asked.

“Two days ago,” Dina said.

“Which makes today…?”

Dina checked her watch. “May 14th.”

“2014?” Debbie said it with a smirk, as though she were kidding, not wanting Dina to know that she was still a little unsure.

Dina grinned. “Yeah. Still 2014.”

Debbie cracked a smile and then looked down at her lap, fidgeting with the hem of her orange top. _May 14_ _th_ _. Lou’s birthday._ She wondered where she was. Tammy had told her she was pretty sure she was back in New York, but she didn’t have any other information than that. She desperately wanted that to be true. She didn’t even need Lou to come to visit. She wasn’t even sure she wanted her to. But the fact that she might be nearby…that was comforting. Still, this would be the seventh bottle of perfume that Debbie owed her, one for every birthday they had missed in the six years, two months, and five days since Lou left. Debbie hoped she would buy herself some.

 _She left. She left me behind._ A wave of sadness threatened to overwhelm Debbie. She swallowed hard. The lump that had suddenly appeared in her throat was very painful. “So…,” she croaked, glad that she had the excuse of her hoarse voice to prevent Dina from noticing her candor.

“I know it’s a lot to take in,” Dina said. 

“Yeah.”

“I’m just glad I saw it happen. No one should be in here on false charges. ‘Course, that’s not how the world works, but when I see something like this, I don’t like it, you know?”

Debbie nodded. “Thanks. Did you get the shipment this week?”

Dina glanced towards the door, but there was no one passing, and Debbie knew she would have muted any microphones in the room. “Yesterday,” she muttered.

“Sell ‘em, don’t smoke ‘em,” Debbie said with half a smile.

“Yeah, don’t worry.” Dina turned towards the door. “Get some rest, Ocean. It’ll help.”

“Hey, Dina?”

“What?”

“Thanks for saving my ass.”

**

It took about twenty-four hours for Debbie to regain her grip on reality. It was amazing how an entire year’s worth of events could become hazy from one dose of whatever the hell they gave her, but by the end of the next day, she didn’t think there were any holes in her memory.

She still felt like shit, though.

The vomiting, which apparently _had_ been real, continued. It was hard for her to keep anything down, and it only took three days for her ribs to become even more prominent than they had been before. Her throat ached, and the swelling of her ankle rose and fell depending on whether she was able to keep the anti-inflammatories in her system long enough for them to work. Dina told her solitary would be temporary, just a precaution as the drugs metabolized. Debbie wasn’t looking forward to going back to regular prison life. It was quieter here, and she didn’t have a work assignment. She could lie in a stupor and stare at the ceiling, counting dots until her brain finally decided to let her sleep. She could think of Lou without feeling vulnerable in front of her cell mates. She hadn’t wanted her like this since she had first come up with the Met plan eleven months ago in a cell that looked exactly like this one.

On the second night after coming back to herself, Debbie let the daydreams overwhelm her. She had resisted them all day, trying to concentrate on what she could remember of the bizarre hallucinations she had experienced, certain that her brain had probably come up with _something_ useful. She was determined to find it. Her foray into her own mind had been fruitless however, and she had brought herself back to the reality of her cell feeling queasy at the thought of being on a train that never stopped. She had never loved the subway, and now she was beginning to actively hate it. So, she pulled herself away, back to cold, hard cinder blocks. But then she remembered leaning her head back against something, some _one_ soft.

_Lou._

It had to have been her. Touching Lou wasn’t like touching anyone else. And _being_ touched by her…

The prison-issued clothing was itchy against her skin, and Debbie felt a rush of heat in her blood that made the room spin. For a moment, she thought the dizziness might lead to another round of vomiting, but then Lou was there in her mind with her fingers in Debbie’s hair. Debbie squeezed her eyes shut. If there was one thing she was good at, it was daydreams. She could create whole worlds in her mind, paste herself into scenarios that had happened, were happening, had yet to happen – it was very useful for jobs. And now…

She could see her, sitting before her. Debbie reached out, and Lou’s skin was like silk beneath her hands, and _Lou’s_ hands were all over her, working over her bare skin – the prison attire was nowhere to be found. She felt herself melting. Lou’s eyes pierced hers with their usual intensity. Her lips were even softer than Debbie remembered.

**

Debbie didn’t glean anything useful from the hallucinations until more than a week later.

She was moved back into her usual cell on a Monday morning after breakfast. Food was still difficult, but she had managed several glasses of water and a bowl of oatmeal that stuck to her insides like tar, sitting alone in the cafeteria. Her new work assignment would start after lunch, and until then, Dina told her she could use the rec lounge or remain in her cell. The gym was strictly off limits until her ankle healed. That was annoying. Debbie usually did her best thinking when punching something.

Still, it was nice to have a change of scenery coupled with quiet while her cell mates were working. Debbie took her time rearranging her possessions, stacking and sorting her books, taping the postcard from Danny onto the cinder blocks next to her bed. She flopped down on the mattress and gazed at the bunk above her, arms folded loosely across her rib cage. The underside of the bunk looked like a grid – thin metal slats interlacing with one another. Debbie used it like a map, overlaying the crisscrossing pattern with a blueprint of the Met. She knew the scale, knew every staircase, every hallway. Some exhibits stayed the same, some shifted. She kept track using the arts section of the New York Times that were provided in the rec lounge. The issues were usually a week or two out of date, but it was enough to get a general picture of which areas remained unchanged. The Gala itself was more of a problem. This year, she had studied every article about it, combed each word in the style section for hints about layout. Next year, she would do the same, and the year after that.

Eyes darting across the underside of the bunk, Debbie traced her route up the broad marble staircase. Walking quickly in high heels, Debbie could span the width of the hall in twenty-three steps. Hosts for the ball weren’t announced until the year of the Gala, but Debbie was counting on someone being a good fit for the Toussaint. That said, the mark could easily be a guest. There wasn’t really any reason for them to be the most high-profile person there. Either way, they would be seated near the center of the room. So far, she knew Lou would be in the kitchen; she knew Amita would be vital and that convincing her would be easy; she knew she needed a fence and fashion designer. That was six, including the mark. Debbie furrowed her brow in concentration, allowed the scene to play out. She watched a silhouette rise from a table in the center of the room. She took quick measured steps to follow it towards the bathrooms, and then…

Debbie stopped herself in front of the imagined bathroom door and blinked. The scene froze. She remembered. In the hallucination, she hadn’t followed the necklace into the bathroom. She had stayed here, outside. _Visible_. _An alibi_. It was so simple, she was almost a little disappointed. But then again, she had always done her own lifting in the past. She couldn’t do that now, not with her record. Not for the first time, Debbie cursed the circumstances that had led her to this spot – to staring up at the underside of a prison bunk. Her fingers tingled wistfully, and yet…there _was_ something elegant about running the jewel heist of the century in plain sight.

She needed more people – someone inside the bathroom, definitely. A good pickpocket. No, the _best_ pickpocket they could find. Debbie added them to the list. There was something else. She turned on the spot, surveying the scene around her. Balance of probability suggested there would be two security guards assigned to the necklace, possibly three. She stepped around their bodies, frozen in the midst of running towards the disappearing Toussaint. Their faces were blurred, but their uniforms were lethally detailed, down to the guns at their belts. Debbie shivered. She preferred to avoid guns when she could.

She stepped back. The hallucination had positioned her just outside the bathroom door. She had halted because…because…Gradually, she became aware of a red light in the periphery of her vision. _Cameras_. She had considered them before, of course. She didn’t know their exact positions, but she knew they were plentiful. She suspected that this version of the Met she had created in her mind had more than the real place. It was always better to be too careful. _Smile for the camera, Debs._ She heard Lou’s voice, and she gave herself five seconds to savor it, slipping into a different area of her mind, where it was just her and Lou, Lou and her – warm, calm.

But that was the answer, wasn’t it? _An_ answer, at any rate. She had to be seen, but the necklace had to be invisible. The idea was neat and clean, as if it was a gift presented with a little bow not unlike the ones she tied to Lou’s bottles of perfume every year. Debbie pushed Lou aside for a moment with a shake of her head. She panned out from the scene, staring up at her imagined blueprint once more. Neon red eyelines of the cameras shot out in all directions, but if she could control them…

Debbie sighed. She needed a hacker. She needed an extraordinary hacker. If she was certain of one thing, nearly six years in prison would be far too long for her to stay current with technology. She couldn’t do it herself. For a moment she thought of Lou, but no. Lou had always been a little bumbling when it came to even her phone – the allure of being off the grid, disconnected, was too much for her to care about how it all worked. Debbie _had_ cared, but she wasn’t on top of it anymore, and – she smirked self-deprecatingly at herself – perhaps she was getting too old for it anyway. Hackers were young and sharp, not fifty-year-old women who had been stupid enough to get themselves thrown in prison. The blueprint of the Met seemed to melt before her. A pick-pocket and a hacker. 

Debbie chewed her lip. The hallucinations, as uncomfortable as they had been, had led her to more conclusions in a few days than she could usually come up with in a month. Her drug-addled brain had opened a door to the rest of the plan. She had her team now. And yes, having to find two more players was a little disheartening, but now she was certain she had everyone she needed. Naturally, she still needed to clarify at least a dozen parts of the plan, but she had enough information to do that, didn’t she? As miserable as she had been, she had learned something. A one-time fix to help her sort out the biggest job of her life.

A one-time fix.

And if she kept telling herself that, maybe the temptation that itched at the corners of her mind would go away. Maybe she could convince herself that another dose of whatever it was – or of something _else_ , something _better_ – was unnecessary. Maybe.

 _Don’t even go there_ , Debbie reprimanded herself and gritted her teeth. _You heard what Dina said. Drug possession charges aren’t going to help you._

Debbie turned onto her side and closed her eyes. It was ridiculous to even consider it. Ridiculous, impossible, and – above all – reckless. Probably just the lingering effects of the drugs themselves, making her want more. A few more good meals, some rest, and a healed ankle would solve everything. She wouldn’t think of the drugs again.

_You’re better than this. You can get there on your own._

Debbie ran her tongue against the sharp edges of her teeth, thinking. She had let herself slip. Spring was always a little depressing. Sure, a break in the cold was a relief, but Debbie wasn’t a fan of the gloom that tended to settle over the city at this time of year. In prison, it was even worse. The yard was so muddy that stepping outside was a sure way to get a handful of uniform violations due to stains. The damp chill seemed to seep into everything, even her mind. Debbie remembered feeling sluggish, lethargic. That’s probably when they pounced, whoever had drugged her. It wasn’t hard to see that she wasn’t operating at a hundred percent. They had taken their chance, and had it not been for Dina, the details of the Met job would be the least of Debbie’s problems right now.

 _Joke’s on you_ , Debbie thought wryly. _It was just what I needed._ She grimaced at the thought. Her heart was pounding much harder than it should be, given that she was lying in bed with her eyes closed. She hated herself for the nervous excitement sticking in her throat. What _if_ …?

She was grateful when the harsh, clanging buzzer that signaled lunch cut through her thoughts. She got to her feet and stepped out of her cell into the crowd of inmates heading towards the cafeteria. She wouldn’t – _couldn’t_ – cave to the temptations. It wasn’t worth the risk. In order to succeed, she needed a singular focus: play it safe, get out, find Lou, run the job.

_Get out, find Lou, run the job._

_Find Lou, run the job._

_Run the job._

_If you play it safe, you run the job._


	2. Watch Me Let You Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barely an hour ago, Lou had been standing on the beach boiling with anger at the smirk on Debbie’s face, but now she was cold, goosebumps rising on her flesh even under the layers of her leathers and her bomber jacket.

“This is just like last time.” Lou couldn’t face the ice in Debbie’s eyes any longer. She turned towards the water, heels crunching in gravel. Before her, the bay blurred and shifted as tears sprang in her eyes. Her stomach clenched with anger, and every muscle in her body was strung taut – ready to snap, ready to  _ run _ . A part of her was already walking away from the job. Away from Debbie.

“Lou,  _ Lou _ .”

She knew that mere seconds had passed since she had turned away, but Debbie’s call seemed to reach her across a wide abyss of time and space. Blood beat violently in Lou’s ears. She had been stupid to assume that Debbie’s schemes didn’t extend to her. Of course,  _ of course _ , there had been more to the plan.

“He sent me to jail. You have  _ no  _ idea what that’s like.” There was emotion in Debbie’s voice now, and Lou felt a tiny modicum of relief at that. Somehow, she had scratched the surface of Debbie’s diamond-hard exterior. Nevertheless, it seemed to take hours just to be able to look at her. As she did so, Lou’s anger, which had been curling in her chest and threatening to explode, caught on a painful lump in her throat.

“Yeah, well, he’s gonna do it again,” she said, using all her strength to keep her voice matter-of-fact, to maintain the pretense that this was merely a professional disagreement.

“No, he’s not,” Debbie insisted. Her voice was softer now, placating. “He’s not.”

Lou chewed the inside of her lower lip until she tasted blood, staring at Debbie without really seeing her. She let the silence stretch between them – tense and awkward, not like it should be. Because she  _ loved  _ Debbie, and she was fairly convinced that Debbie loved her back. It was supposed to be easy, but Debbie was making it difficult again. Didn’t she trust her? Didn’t she realize how dangerous Claude’s presence could be? Was she really willing to risk the fragile  _ something  _ they had built over the last six weeks for petty revenge? With half a shake of her head, Lou looked away from Debbie, back towards the road and the warehouse.

“Lou,” Debbie said quietly. “Pl—”

“No,” Lou said shortly. She shook off the hand that Debbie had reached towards her arm. “ _ No _ , Debs. This isn’t how it works.” She took a step away from her, kicking gravel and sand towards the cinderblock wall. The toes of her shiny purple boots came away scuffed. “I c—”

“Don’t go,” Debbie said firmly, interrupting her.

Lou felt a pull towards her, but she resisted, took another step back towards the road. She pressed her lips together, willed herself not to cry. It couldn’t end like this, but Lou couldn’t stand there any longer. She didn't have the stomach for Debbie’s pleas right now. Wobbling a little in the gravel, Lou took a third step. She couldn’t feel Debbie’s warmth anymore, and even as she fixed her gaze in front of her and began to walk faster, Lou felt a raindrop land on her cheek. She reached the road and hesitated. But no, she couldn’t look back. There wasn’t anything to be said – not yet. She didn’t owe Debbie anything, and if Debbie believed that Lou was leaving for good, well, that was Debbie’s problem, not hers, at least for now.

Lou had almost forgotten about the rest of the team. They hadn’t moved much, still gathered around Nine’s computer as Tammy explained the layout of the seating chart. Lou didn’t have enough energy to hide her frustration, couldn’t bring herself to care about the nervous expressions on Amita and Constance’s faces as she kicked off her shoes. The purple block heels hit the brick wall with a less-than-satisfying *clunk*. Tammy winced, even as she continued speaking, and Lou looked at her.

“You knew,” Lou said coldly, interrupting Tammy’s spiel. There was a silence that stretched through the loft. Constance’s eyes darted back and forth anxiously between Lou and Tammy. Amita’s eyes glanced towards the door as though she were looking for Debbie. Nine avoided looking at anyone and began typing vigorously on her laptop. 

Finally, just as the silence became unbearable, Tammy spoke. “I told her to tell you.” Her voice was quiet, soothing. She bit her lip.

Lou scoffed and shook her head as she reached for her leather jacket. “Bye, Tim-Tam.”

“What?” Tammy said, eyes widening. “ _ Lou _ .”

Lou groaned and squeezed the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. Eyes closed, she heard rather than saw Tammy move away from the group and stride towards her. Lou’s head spun and ached. Tammy’s gentle hand settled on her shoulder, and somewhat to her own surprise, Lou didn’t shrug it off.

“She didn’t tell you,” Tammy said. A statement, not a question.

Lou shook her head, eyes still closed, worrying the raw spot on the inside of her lower lip once more. “She’s gonna get herself sent right back to prison,” she managed to choke out. “I can’t…I don’t…” She opened her eyes and caught a glimpse of the rest of the team pretending not to watch them from behind Nine’s computer. “I gotta get out of here.”

“Lou…”

Lou shot her a withering look. “I’ll come back, Tam.”

“You sure?”

Lou nodded. “Yeah, seeing as it’s my house.” She managed a weak smile, which Tammy returned. “I’m not making any promises about the job, though,” she added fiercely, her smile fading.

Tammy frowned, but she seemed to realize that arguing was pointless. “Just promise me you’ll talk to her. Eventually,” she said, keeping her voice quiet enough that no one else could hear.

“We’ll s—”

Just then, the door opened behind Lou, and Debbie stepped into the loft. Her hair was already damp, as were her eyes. Any surprise she felt at finding herself faced with Lou and Tammy on the threshold was masked behind an impassive, stony expression within a split second. Lou heard Tammy swallow hard. Debbie didn’t speak, just stood looking at Lou in her riding gear. Then she shrugged and took a step inside. Lou may have imagined it, but it seemed as though Debbie was blinking a little more frequently than usual as she hung her coat on a hook near the door. Lou saw her eyes dart towards the living room, and she heard a scuffle behind her as the others attempted to look busy. As she looked once more at Lou, Debbie’s mouth opened as though she were about to speak.

“I’ll see you later, Debbie,” Lou said in a strained voice, forestalling any excuse or apology from Debbie that she wasn’t ready to hear. Without waiting for a response, Lou slipped past her, through the door, and out into the rain.

**

“Hey, boss, long time no see.” Roger, her backroom manager’s, voice cut through the fog in Lou’s brain.

“Yeah,” she grunted at him. “Give me one of the good bottles.” She held out her hand and nodded towards the boxes in the corner.

He frowned. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Lou scoffed. “I get to decide if it’s a good fucking idea, Roger. Give me the damn bottle.”

Roger winced and spun his rolly chair around, slid agilely towards the boxes, collected a bottle, and rolled back again. “Here,” he said. “But I’m coming up there in a few hours, and if you’ve passed out, I’m calling an ambulance.”

“Fuck you,” Lou spat at him under her breath.

He rolled his eyes and turned back to his siphoning station. Lou stomped away. Her boots left a muddy trail of footprints across the cement floor. Her office was on the second floor in a corridor behind the bar. She kept it bare – quite unlike the eclectic style of the loft. Usually, minimalism helped her think, but right now it made her think of Debbie. Debbie and her monochromatic clothes. Debbie and the same brand of mascara she had stolen year after year after year. Debbie wearing Danny’s simple, white-faced watch. Debbie, Debbie, Debbie…

Lou leaned against the desk with a sigh. Her entire body ached. Barely an hour ago, she had been standing on the beach boiling with anger at the smirk on Debbie’s face, but now she was cold, goosebumps rising on her flesh even under the layers of her leathers and her bomber jacket. The rain had found its way into her boots, soaking into the thin wool socks she wore. Lou placed the bottle of vodka on her desk between two stacks of neatly organized papers and wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing her arms, willing some life back into her blood. But how could she expect to feel alive when the person she had lived for, the person she had  _ survived  _ for, was prepared to throw it all away for revenge? For posterity? She and Debbie hadn’t talked about Claude, not since a brief conversation four weeks ago when Debbie had briefly suggested framing him. Lou had been adamantly against the idea, and Debbie had appeared to drop that part of the plan, had even created an entire list of potential dates for Daphne Kluger. But Claude had been the plan all along, and Debbie’s deception couldn’t have been anything other than intentional.

Lou picked up the bottle of vodka once more and tore open the plastic wrapper around the cap with her teeth. She spared the label a glance before twisting it open. The rough edges of the bottle cap made her pause. She pressed the sharp rim into her finger, leaving a read indent that faded quickly. Lou had thought that Debbie cared. She had thought – naively, perhaps – that Debbie might actually love her. But Debbie Ocean had never been very good at seeing beyond herself. After ten years apart, how could Lou have imagined that she would still be the exception to that rule? The vodka hit the back of her throat like ice and slid into her stomach like fire. Lou shuddered. It had been a long time since she drank liquor straight from the bottle – three years, almost. Ever since Tammy had found her in that grimy sports bar with torn clothes, sweating out a half-remembered high, Lou had stuck to beer and wine for the most part and avoided drugs entirely. She had cleaned up – for Tammy, for herself, but for Debbie, too. Lou sighed and took another swig of vodka. The burn wasn’t as sharp this time.

Lou slid her arms out of her jacket and tossed it across her desk, scattering her neatly ordered paperwork. She smirked at the mess, threw herself into her chair, and propped her feet up on her desk. A few flakes of dried mud settled onto the papers. Lou threw her head back and gazed at the ceiling, tapping her fingernails on the vodka bottle. The noise echoed in the room – the only thing she could hear other than her own breath and heartbeat. The bar and the dancefloor were quiet in the afternoons. She couldn’t hear the noise from the TV in the backroom, either, where Roger and a few others were hard at work. The silence pressed on Lou’s eardrums until it almost hurt. She took another swig of vodka and grimaced. The burn had dissipated into numbness radiating down her throat. It made her feel slightly sick. She screwed the cap back onto the bottle and set it aside, closing her eyes.

**

_ It took five days to decode Debbie’s message after the first and only time Lou visited her in prison. It was a simple enough request, but Debbie had used all her considerable cunning to ensure that the note would be unintelligible to anyone but Lou. _

Twenty grand _ , Lou thought. For a moment, panic rose in her chest. There was no way. Neither of them had even halfway decent credit. They had always had to fake it; that was part of the job. But this time was different, Lou knew. This time the credit had to be legit.  _ How…? __

_ But she knew how. Lou stood in the middle of the dancefloor on opening night of the Anchorline, dazzled by strobe lights and success. Debbie only needed twenty grand, and Lou owned this place – owned the music and the liquor and the grungy edges.  _ Hers.

_ Twenty grand was easy. _

_ Nonetheless, that did not mean that Lou was easily convinced. Nearly three years later, staring at Debbie across the high-top table at Vaselka, Lou hesitated. “Even if it was possible—” _

_ “It  _ is _ possible.” _

_ “Even if it  _ was _ , we’d need, like, twenty people and half a million dollars,” she said. Sure, she might be rounding up a bit, but Debbie’s plan was more far-fetched than any she had heard. _

_ "Seven,” Debbie shot back, not looking up from her plate. _

_ “Seven million?” Lou asked, eyebrows raised. Debbie couldn’t be serious. _

_ "Seven people and twenty grand,” Debbie said, looking up at last. _

_ Lou surveyed her cautiously. “Why do you need to do this?” _

_ “Because it’s what I’m good at.” _

_"Uh…yeah…” Lou knew Debbie wasn’t lying. Even though it was difficult to catch the tension in her jaw while she was eating, Lou caught sight of it every so often between bites. Still, the job was extreme, and if Debbie really believed this could work…how the hell_ could _she believe this would work? What on Earth had happened in prison to convince her?_

_ Lou wanted to peel away the layers – the secret of how Debbie ended up in solitary, the reason for her anger. She wanted to peel away the trench coat, too, which did a poor job hiding the fact that she was thinner, that prison clung to her body in ways Lou didn’t quite understand. Lou wanted to see her, touch her. But Debbie’s eyes went fuzzy when they were alone, like she was thinking of a thousand things at once. Lou hadn’t done more than kiss her in the forty-eight hours she had been free. Both nights, Debbie had crawled into Lou’s bed uninvited but not unwelcome. She had allowed herself to be held, but Lou wasn’t going to pursue more without expressed desire, and Debbie hadn’t sought out anything other than a comforting arm around her waist and her bare legs intertwined with Lou’s… _

_ “Look,” Debbie was saying. “I’ve run this thing a thousand times. Every time I got caught, I fixed it. And in three years, I wasn’t getting caught anymore. By the time I was paroled it was running like clockwork. Perfectly.” _

_ Lou smiled indulgently at her. Debbie’s face was alight with determination, and Lou had always found that expression particularly hard to resist. _

_ "And you were there with me. Every step of the way,” Debbie added in her signature sing-song tone.  _

_ “Oh, honey, is this a proposal?” Lou teased. How was it so easy to joke about it and so hard to actually tell her? _

_ “Baby, I don’t have a diamond yet.” Debbie’s eyes were glittering, and Lou’s brain short circuited. “Come on. Do you really want to spend the rest of your life watering down well vodka? ‘Cause it’s really kind of a waste. Come on,” Debbie went on, now holding out towards Lou a mindfully crafted bite of pastry on the end of her fork. “Take a bite.” _

_ Lou did, and the credit line was secured within an hour.  _

**

“Boss?”

Lou opened her eyes to find Roger’s face about a foot away from her own. He was leaning over her, searching for signs of life. “I’m fine,” she said shortly, looking away from him.

“How much have you had?”

Lou held up the bottle. It was still nearly full. 

He frowned, confused. “But I thought…”

Lou huffed a laugh. “Yeah, well, I thought so too. Turns out I’m not one for drowning my problems anymore.” She handed him the bottle.

Roger took it and straightened up. “You gonna stay through the evening?”

Lou considered him for a moment. It was a ready-made excuse to avoid Debbie, at least until tomorrow. Somewhat to her own surprise, however, she shook her head. “Nah, I have plans.”

He smiled grimly. “Thought you might.”

Lou swung her legs off the table and surveyed the mess on top of her desk. She considered cleaning it up, but what was the point of pretending that wasn’t just another excuse to put off the inevitable?

“I’m gonna call you an Uber,” Roger said, pulling out his phone.

“Don’t bother,” Lou insisted, “I’m fine. I’ve got my bike.”

He rolled his eyes. “Look, I’m not saying you’re hammered, but you’re too drunk to drive yourself home.”

Lou had to admit he was right as she pulled on her leather jacket and felt the room spin around her just a little. Her tolerance was pathetic after all these years. “Fine,” she muttered. “I’ll just move the bike inside, alright?”

He nodded, tapping away at the Uber app on his phone as they left her office and made their way through the dim corridor back towards the stairs. At the back entrance to the club, Lou stowed her bike just inside the door. She kept her keys in her pocket, running the jagged edge of one of them over her middle finger until it began to tingle. Anger still bubbled beneath the surface, but overall, Lou felt calmer. She had questions, of course, and she  _ would  _ walk if Debbie couldn’t answer them. That would stop the job and save all their skins if necessary. Sure, Debbie had more than enough craftiness to rob the Met without Lou, but Lou was quite sure that Debbie was being honest when she said that Lou had been there with her in all the versions that worked. And yes, it still hurt that Debbie hadn’t trusted her with the entire plan, but Lou trusted Debbie to follow her usual patterns. The way Lou saw it, Debbie had two options: convince Lou or stop the job. Lou slid into the back seat of the Uber and confirmed her address with the driver. With her forehead leaning against the glass, Lou closed her eyes again. Whatever happened, Debbie wasn’t going back to prison. Lou would make sure of that. 

**

Night had fallen by the time the Uber pulled up at the block of warehouses that included the loft. For the sake of security, Lou always told them to stop a good distance away. The rain had stopped, and despite the constant hum of traffic from the streets around them, Lou’s warehouse and the lot next door were quiet enough that the lapping of waves on the shore could be heard clearly. A pang of uncertainty shot from Lou’s stomach to the hollow of her throat. She swallowed hard. The sound of the waves reminded her too much of Debbie, of their last argument over there on the beach. Walking away had been the right decision; who knew what hurtful things would have fallen from her mouth? Still, the soft sound of water on rocks made her heart clench painfully. Lou took a deep breath as she unlocked the door to the loft and pushed her way inside.

It was quiet and dark on the main floor. Just as she was beginning to wonder where everyone was, seeing as she had given them rooms for the duration of the heist, her phone buzzed. Lou pulled it out of her back pocket and opened the message, not altogether surprised that it was from Tammy.  _ You have six days. Talk to her. I’ll bring everyone back on Sunday.  _ Lou smiled – half-woeful, half-grateful. Lou wondered if Debbie had received something similar. She shrugged her jacket from her shoulders and unlaced her boots. A floorboard creaked upstairs, and Lou bit her lip. Debbie would have heard her come in; there was no use putting it off any longer. Lou shut off the light in the kitchen and made her way upstairs in the dark. She knew each step, each irregularity in the carpet around the balcony upstairs, each crack in the bannister. The door to the room she had set aside for Debbie was ajar, and a ray of dim golden light tinged the dark grey monochrome of the upper floor. Lou’s heart beat hard in her chest as she knocked softly and pushed the door open.

She stopped short, and the sight before her seemed to shatter into a thousand pieces. Lou blinked, and the pieces merged once more, but still, they didn’t add up. She stared at the needle in Debbie’s hand, already poised against the soft flesh of her inner arm. She stared at the little box sitting next to her on the floor, at the vial reflecting the light of the lamp on the bedside table. Fury and anger hit her before her mind truly had time to catch up. Her vision blurred; her hands shook. She took a step into the room just as Debbie pressed her thumb against the plunger.

“No,” Lou croaked, finding her voice without conscious thought. “ _ No _ , Debs, you can’t…”

The desperation in Debbie’s eyes was worse than the sight of the syringe in her hand. Her fingers trembled in time with her lower lip. Lou was in front of her a moment later, kneeling down and easing Debbie’s thumb away from the plunger. She had only managed about half of the solution, whatever it was. Heroine? Cocaine? Morphine? Debbie could acquire anything if she really wanted to. Debbie’s grip slackened and Lou began to pull the needle out of her arm. Debbie twitched, wincing at the sensation. A hiss escaped. Lou set her jaw, determined not to look in her eyes. She couldn’t. Not yet. Of all the things she might have expected from Debbie tonight, drugs had been furthest from her mind. It didn’t add up. Debbie was too smart for that – too  _ smug _ , frankly.  _ How…? _

Debbie winced again just as Lou removed the needle, and suddenly her fingers closed around Lou’s wrist. Lou froze. The pressure hurt, and Debbie’s nails dug into her flesh. Slowly, Lou turned her head to look at her. Debbie’s eyes were unfocused, pupils blown wide, and Lou wondered if this was the first thing she had taken tonight. Her lip was still trembling, but the rest of her was immovable. Lou tried to twist her wrist in Debbie’s grip, but even with her considerable strength, she couldn’t manage it. The half-empty syringe was still caught between her rapidly numbing fingertips, but a second later it fell to the floor beside them. Debbie’s eyes dropped to it and then refocused on Lou. Lou held her gaze, ignoring the pain. She moved her free left hand slowly, careful to avoid any shift in her shoulder that would give away her intention. She was an inch away from tossing the syringe out of Debbie’s reach when Debbie’s lip curled in a smirk and her other hand captured Lou’s left wrist.  _ Stalemate _ , Lou thought even as she gasped. Debbie’s grip was unnervingly strong.

“Debbie,” Lou said evenly. “Let me go.”

Debbie squeezed harder, and Lou’s fingertips tingled. Her skin, already pale, was turning translucent around her fingernails. Lou closed her eyes and tried again.

“Debbie,” she said, a little louder this time, a little more urgent. “Please.”

Debbie’s grip didn’t tighten this time, but her expression was cold as Lou opened her eyes. Lou bit her lip and heaved a sigh through her nose. She leaned in towards Debbie, caught a momentary glint of confusion in Debbie’s eyes, which were almost black. Lou's lips brushed Debbie’s cheek, and the smell of her perfume made a lump rise in Lou’s throat.  _ This couldn’t be happening.  _ Lou hardened herself against denial, and brought her lips to Debbie’s ear.

“Debs, honey,” she whispered, “you’re hurting me.”

The words hung for a moment, then a noise that was half way between a grunt of frustration and a strangled sob forced its way from Debbie’s throat. Her fingers loosened a little, and Lou managed to pull her wrists free. Before Debbie could reach for the syringe, Lou caught her hands in hers. She didn’t tighten her grip, didn’t do anything other than wait for her numb fingers to warm up against Debbie’s skin.

“What did you take, honey?” Lou asked quietly, stroking her thumbs over Debbie’s knuckles.

“Vodka,” Debbie replied. Lou looked at her in some surprise. She hadn’t expected a response, let alone a joke. The hint of a smile on Debbie’s face made Lou wary.

“And…?” she asked, keeping her voice low and soothing. Debbie frowned as if trying to remember, looking up at the ceiling, over at the wall – anywhere but at Lou. With a sinking feeling, Lou noticed that her expressions were becoming less impassive and more like exaggerated caricatures of the Debbie she knew. The drugs were taking effect.

“Some wine, maybe?” Debbie said. “Tammy was here, and the others. After…” She furrowed her brow and met Lou’s gaze once more. “You left me,” she said harshly.

Lou shook her head. “I said I’d be back later,” Lou said. Anger was rising in her chest once more. “I  _ told  _ you…”

“You told me that ten years ago, too,” Debbie interrupted.

Lou swallowed. “Is that what this is about?”

Debbie almost laughed, but she seemed to catch herself. “I never would have teamed up with Claude if you had stayed,” she said fiercely. 

“Oh, so it’s my fault?” Lou said, unable to keep an edge of cruel sarcasm out of her tone.

Debbie shrugged and looked away. Lou sighed and looked down between them, noticing her hands still caressing Debbie’s. The sight calmed her, brought her back to the real issue at hand.

“I’m sorry I stayed away so long,” Lou said quietly. “You have to know that, but now’s not the time to—”

“Claude deserves to go down,” Debbie said in a forbidding tone.

Lou glanced up at her once more and pressed her lips together. She didn’t want to have this conversation while Debbie was high, but there was a good chance Debbie would never agree to have it sober, so Lou was prepared to take what she could get.

“He’s an asshole, and he hurt me,” Debbie went on. Her tone verged on frantic, and her eyes darted around them, hovering on Lou, on the drugs laid out next to her, on their entwined hands. “But I…”

“You  _ what _ , Debbie?”

“I wanted to do it without him,” she said quietly. “To figure out how to…” She glanced towards the syringe. Lou watched a drop cling to the tip of the needle, hover, and then drop onto the rug. “I  _ can _ do it without him, Lou, I  _ know  _ I can. Just let me…” Lou was too busy listening to register that Debbie had wiggled her hand away from Lou and was reaching towards the syringe once more until it was almost too late. At the last second however, Lou shoved the needle away. Debbie crossed her arms over her chest and glared at her.

Lou’s mind whirred. Had Debbie really taken the drugs in an attempt to figure out how to cut Claude out of the job, in an attempt to make Lou stay? There had to be more to it than that. Debbie had never resorted to drugs before, and this was a smaller problem than some they had encountered. “Why?” Lou asked.

Debbie shook her head, which Lou took to mean,  _ I’m not answering that right now, and you know it. _

Lou shrugged. “Fine,” she said, holding up her hands. “But you never needed to change the whole job for me. I thought you knew that. We could have worked through this together, Debs. We  _ can  _ work through this together. But you haven’t told me one single thing about Claude. Nothing.” Her voice rose, and Lou didn’t stop it. “How was I supposed to react? And this…” Lou gestured to the bottle in the little wooden box.

“Cocaine,” Debbie said stiffly, “a seven-percent solution.”

Lou closed her eyes, begging the universe for patience and compassion. “You’re not fucking Sherlock Holmes, Debbie.”

“It  _ works _ , Lou.”

Lou had to laugh at that. “Works?” she said. She stood up, needing to get away from her, to step out of the range of Debbie’s perfume at least. “ _ Works _ ? Works for  _ what _ ?”

“I can see  _ everything _ ,” Debbie said. Her voice was sharp and even. “Every possibility, every flaw, every way we could get caught.” She leaned back against the end of the bed, head lolling against the lower part of the mattress. She closed her eyes, and a giddy smile spread across her face. Lou wondered what she was seeing, and despite her disappointment, she couldn’t help but admit that Deborah Ocean and cocaine would be a pretty unstoppable criminal combination. But then again…

“Debbie, you’ve  _ always _ been that good,” Lou said softly. “How could you forget that?”

Debbie shook her head, eyes still closed. Her smile faded. “I’m not as good as I used to be.”

Lou scoffed. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

Debbie rolled her head back and forth against the mattress. “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

“Clearly,” Lou spat. An electric shock of anger shot through her, and before she knew it, she had kicked the box along with the little bottle across the room. It hit the brick wall under the window with a tinkle of breaking glass. Liquid dripped down the wall. The box fell to the floor. 

Debbie’s eyes flew open, glancing from the shards of glass on the floor to Lou standing above her with her hands on her hips. Her face was contorted with rage as she got to her feet and rushed towards Lou. Lou was ready for her, aware that Debbie’s strength far out-matched her own at the moment, but determined to protect herself all the same. Debbie was a foot from Lou when she stopped short. Her brow was furrowed in confusion and she blinked rapidly.

“Debs?” Lou asked. This was stupid, she thought. How could she even consider fighting her? This was  _ Debbie _ , after all. Her life, her  _ love… _

“I…I feel…” Debbie trailed off, jaw working over unheard words. She blinked again. As if in slow motion, Debbie’s eyes rolled back, the color drained from her face, and she teetered where she stood. Lou stepped forward to catch her, but Debbie fell into her anyway. Her chin dug painfully into Lou’s shoulder.

Lou wrapped her arms around her and leaned back against the closet door behind her. Debbie’s breath ruffled the hairs behind Lou’s ear, and her smell encompassed Lou once more. The fear, the anger, the disappointment welled in Lou’s chest, and at last the tears came – hot and sticky on her cheeks, threading their way into Debbie’s hair as Lou rocked her back and forth in her arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK this ended on a really heavy note, but stick with me. I promised a happy ending, and you will get one! <3
> 
> And yes, this fic is going to jump around a little chronologically for a bit. :)


	3. All the Sounds I've Missed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn’t fresh air that she had missed, Debbie realized. 
> 
> It was the unrelenting, persistent odor of New York – hot dogs, pavement, car exhaust, and something that she couldn’t pin down that lingered behind it all.

There were three events that steered Debbie away from caving to temptation in prison. 

First, Lou came to visit a year after her second stint in solitary. In the weeks before, Debbie had been anxious, had weighed the wisdom of seeking out a hit of  _ something _ – just enough to spark a high that could be helpful in parsing together a vision for ensuring Claude’s imprisonment. The message that Lou was coming to visit brought her up short, and within seconds of realizing she was going to see her again, all thoughts of drugs left Debbie’s mind. Within a few months after Lou’s visit, the temptation returned, niggling at the back of Debbie’s mind.

Then, a year before she was due to be released, Debbie was moved into a new cell with a new cellmate. The change of scenery was almost shockingly therapeutic, and her new cellmate was a breath of fresh air. Marcia was quiet and thoughtful and didn’t deserve to be there. Thanks to her, the relative silence around Debbie was enough to get her thoughts back on track. 

Finally, there was the toothbrush. Inmates were issued new toothbrushes every six months. Seven months before her parole, Debbie still didn’t have a perfect vision for Claude’s role. He was the final, inevitable piece, and there was an itch in her fingers again. The memories of the hallucinations more than three years before were starting to dim. She wanted that clarity again – images sharp as reality, thoughts racing towards conclusions. But then the new toothbrush was pressed into her hand, and she had a sudden idea. Every night, she filed the handle of her old toothbrush against the sharp, metal edge of her bunk. Somehow, the routine of it was calming. The plan solidified, and by Christmas, when Danny made his annual visit, the shiv was nearly complete. Debbie flashed it at him when the guard had his back turned.

Danny shook his head. “You could frame anyone. Why him?”

“Anyone,” Debbie scoffed.

“Literally. Anyone,” Danny said again, emphasizing each syllable.

Debbie’s smile faltered. “He’s the one that put me in here.”

“I know, but…” Danny sighed and leaned forward across the metal table. His eyes – so much like her own – seemed to stare right into the pulleys and gears of her mind. “You do not run a job in a job.”

“You sound like Lou,” Debbie said.

“Yeah, speaking of which…”

“No, I haven’t told her.” Debbie looked down at her hands and drummed her fingers along the edge of the table. She hated the visiting rooms. They smelled like antiseptic and the ceiling fans emitted a high-pitched whistling noise.

“But she’s involved?”

Debbie shrugged. “If she wants to be.” She tried to make her voice as casual and laissez-faire as possible. 

Danny rolled his eyes. “ _ Deborah _ …”

“Jesus, don’t  _ do  _ that,” Debbie chided.

“What?”

“Worry about me. It doesn’t suit you.”

“I always worry about you,” he insisted.

It was Debbie’s turn to roll her eyes. Still, there was a reason she was talking to him at all. “What do you really think?” she asked.

Danny’s easy smirk faltered. “I…I dunno, Debs.”

“Bullshit.” 

“What happened to playing it safe?”

“I got bored.”

“Sometimes boring is g—”

“ _ Boring  _ is what got me in here,” Debbie said evenly. “I got bored. I got reckless.”

Danny shook his head. “Nah, you just…weren’t in a good headspace. Happens to all of us.”

Debbie gave him a withering look. He glared right back at her. At last, she sighed. “Fine. You don’t have to tell me what you really think, but promise me when it’s over, you’ll say I was right.”

“Done.”

“…and that I’m smarter than you ever hope to be.”

He laughed. “Deal.”

The guard stepped forward, grim faced. “Time’s up.”

Debbie got to her feet. “Bye,” she said with a jerk of her shoulders. Not being able to touch people made every parting feel incomplete, not that she had ever been much of a hugger.

“Bye, Debs. Let me know when you’re out, okay?”

“Oh, I will.” Debbie smirked. “Let me know how the New Year’s Eve affair turns out.” She winked, conscious of the guard standing impatiently next to her.

“Love you, Debs.”

“Yeah, I…” Debbie chewed her bottom lip.

Danny gave her a soft smile and a nod. Debbie swallowed hard and turned away.

**

Almost exactly one month later, Debbie received a phone call. She hoped it was Lou. She thought it  _ would be  _ Lou.

It wasn’t.

Reuben’s voice was uncharacteristically monotone. Perhaps it was easier to talk about death if you tried to sound dead yourself.

Debbie smoked each and every one of that week’s shipment of cigarettes, except for Dina’s cut. More than anything, she wished for something stronger.

**

_ Sherlock Holmes took his bottle from the corner of the mantelpiece, and his hypodermic syringe from its neat morocco case. With his long, white, nervous fingers he adjusted the delicate needle and rolled back his left shirtcuff. For some little time his eyes rested thoughtfully upon the sinewy forearm and wrist, all dotted and scarred with innumerable puncture-marks. Finally, he thrust the sharp point home, pressed down the tiny piston, and sank back into the velvet lined armchair with a long sigh of satisfaction… _

_ “Which is it to-day…morphine or cocaine?” _

_ “It is cocaine,” he said, “a seven-per-cent solution. Would you care to try it?” _

Debbie looked up from the book and watched a shadow play across the messy caulk where the cinderblocks met the tile floor. There was probably a bird outside, fluttering against the bars that reflected onto the floor earlier in the day. Now, close to noon, the shadows were more abstract, and yet the movement still drew her eye. Meanwhile, Debbie’s fingers tapped rapidly across the words in front of her.

She had always liked this description of Holmes, apart from the puncture-marks, but even those had a sort of taboo elegance that piqued Debbie’s curiosity. Doyle’s words were so evocative, so precise – the Morocco box, the sinews of his forearm, the velvet lined armchair. The scene was almost hyper-realistic, technicolor behind Debbie’s eyelids. She could see every detail – the dust on the mantelpiece that settled everywhere except on the bottle that Holmes used three times a day, the violin in the corner, the leather spines of books. Not for the first time, Debbie imagined the scarred skin of Holmes’s forearm and felt herself flinch. But that would never happen to her, would it? She wasn’t seeking dependency, nor a constant rush. She just wanted a little nudge here and there. Getting older didn’t bother her most of the time, but there was no doubt that her mind had been sharper ten years ago. She no longer craved the hallucinations and the discomfort that came with them. She craved clarity, and this is where she had landed: Sherlock Holmes, one of three books she had actually touched from the sizable collection in the corner. Tammy had brought her new copies of Shakespeare and Doyle. Debbie planned to leave them to Marcia as soon as she got out… _ as soon as she got out… _

Debbie closed her eyes and pressed her lips together. Any moment now, Dina would call her back to the parole board. An hour ago, she had babbled some nonsense about falling for the wrong person, about wanting a simple life. Debbie’s fingers trembled as she snapped the book shut and lay down on her bunk, staring up at the ceiling. This cell was only a double, which meant she lacked the slats of a bunk above her to help with her imaginary Metropolitan Museum. Still, she had learned to make do, and Marcia made everything easier. Marcia actually  _ liked  _ her, respected her. Inside, that really meant something.

Debbie sat back against the wall and closed her eyes. There was a clenching, uncomfortable feeling in her stomach. She wanted desperately to be free, but there was no denying that she was stepping out into a world that she didn’t know. A lot could change in six years, and what if her plan hadn’t accounted for those changes? This time, more than ever before, she would be dependent on her team not only for their roles, but for their advice. What if investment accounts didn’t work the same way? What if security protocols had changed? What if Anna Wintour inexplicably decided to change the layout of the Met Gala? The clenching in Debbie’s stomach grew more persistent. She felt frantic, kinetic energy in every muscle. She was tired of waiting, tired of uncertainty – about the job, about where she fit in the world now. She thought of Sherlock Holmes and his sure, slender fingers. The elegance of his ritual tempted her.

The sound of footsteps echoed along the corridor. Debbie calculated their weight and pace – Dina. She opened her eyes, slid forward to the edge of the bed, and placed her feet on the floor, curling and uncurling her toes inside her canvas shoes. Perhaps everything would feel clearer once she was free. She ran her fingers through her hair and took a deep breath, just as Dina appeared beyond the cell door.

“They’re ready for you, Ocean,” she said with a kind smile.

Debbie exhaled all her breath, willing her heart to stop hammering. Whatever impassive façade she displayed, the parole process made her nervous. She followed one step behind Dina towards the block of offices on the west side of the prison, keeping her eyes on the join between the cinderblock wall and the linoleum floor. She wondered what time it was – probably well before noon, since her parole hearing had been first thing in the morning. Time was weird in here. Sometimes hours passed in leaps and bounds; sometimes minutes dragged on for lifetimes. Like now. Debbie could’ve sworn that the walk to the offices had only been half this long earlier.

“Have you heard anything?” she asked Dina.

Dina tossed a sympathetic look over her shoulder. “They don’t tell me nothing,” she said. A minute later, Dina stopped in front of a heavy metal door with frosted glass across the window. “I’ll see you on your way out,” she said.

Debbie managed a small smile as she entered the room. 

**

It wasn’t fresh air that she had missed, Debbie realized. It was the unrelenting, persistent odor of New York – hot dogs, pavement, car exhaust, and something that she couldn’t pin down that lingered behind it all. She stood on Madison Avenue and took a deep breath. This was home. Just at that moment, a woman passed her, and Debbie caught a whiff of her perfume – sandalwood and pine.  _ Lou _ . All at once she realized that no, New York wasn’t exactly home anymore.  _ Lou  _ was home, and until she found her, everything felt like waiting. Debbie closed her eyes, trying to hang onto the scent, but it faded too quickly into the crowd around her. When she opened her eyes, they were a little wet. Chalking it up to the fumes of a passing bus, Debbie wiped the sleeve of her coat across her face and walked on.

**

The subway car rattled around her, and Debbie closed her eyes. She didn’t like trains, and she didn’t know why. She never had. The underground ones were the worst.

She felt jumpy. The hand that was gripping the handle of the stolen wheeled suitcase was sweating profusely. Standing in the middle of the car, she watched her distorted reflection in the shiny metal pole in front of her. She remembered being crammed into a car like this one with Danny and her parents, watching her reflection in the steel and trying not to be sick. The hot press of bodies, the sickly scent of someone’s perfume sprayed a little too liberally – Debbie could still smell it, though the odor might have been wafting from the stolen blue coat she wore rather than across several decades of memories. She liked the style of the coat, but the scent was getting to her. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, grateful that today the subway was relatively empty. With a sigh, she thought of the dress and coat she had left behind at the Park Plaza – swirling black lace and heavy wool, torn to shreds now and shoved unceremoniously into a garbage bag. She hadn’t been able to resist the scissors she found in a desk drawer of the suite, but maybe she should have spared the coat. Debbie gritted her teeth and forced her mind onto happier topics. Not for the first time, she wondered what Lou would wear to the Gala, and by the time the train stopped a few blocks from the cemetery, Debbie was chewing her lip to keep from smiling.

It was going to rain any minute now, Debbie thought as she stepped out onto the street and got her bearings. To the left, just visible at the end of the street, there was a deli she remembered. It calmed her to know it was still there, settled the butterflies in her stomach if only for a moment. She wasn’t sure what she was nervous about. She wasn’t afraid of the dead, but perhaps it was the overwhelming possibility that Danny wasn’t dead at all that brought on a fresh wave of nerves. She didn’t want to be taken in by any of his schemes. If he was actually dead, she could mourn him, but this uncertainty was almost unbearable. And then there was Lou. Why on Earth did it make her so anxious to anticipate good things? Debbie didn’t have an answer, she only knew that the butterflies flapped harder with every step towards the cemetery gates and with every second that crept toward noon. Nevertheless, she kept walking.

The rain began just as she neared the mausoleum. Debbie left the door open; she wouldn’t be here long, didn’t need anything from Danny other than proof that his name was written in marble on that wall. Lou was due to arrive in fifteen minutes, and Debbie knew she wouldn’t be late, not after ten years apart. She didn’t have much of an idea of Lou’s life right now, but she was certain her obsessive punctuality hadn’t changed. The moment Debbie stepped into the cold, marble room, she knew she wasn’t alone. There was a scuffle around the corner, and she caught a glimpse of a coattail vanishing out of sight.  _ Reuben _ . If he made her late for Lou, she would have to find a tomb for him, too. Still, she couldn’t see him yet, couldn’t reconcile the emotions flooding her chest at the sight of Danny’s name with any urge towards hastiness.

_ Danny Ocean.  _ Not Daniel. Was that a clue? Debbie rolled her eyes at herself and sighed. “You better be in there,” she muttered. She waited another minute, hoping against hope (and reason and logic and everything she stood for) that something would happen, but Reuben coughed around the corner, and the spell was broken. “I know you’re there, Reuben,” she said, not even bothering to raise her voice in the echoing room. “You can come on out.”

He sauntered around the corner looking only slightly sheepish. “I was just paying my respects,” he insisted.

Debbie smiled fondly at him. “Around the corner?” She gave him a hard look. “What are you doing here?”

Of course, Danny would have told him.  _ Of course _ , Danny would have sent them all to stop her. She was glad only Reuben had shown up. She would have to keep an eye out for the rest of them, and if Yen had doubts, that could ruin everything. Not for the first time, Debbie wished very much that Danny was alive so she could punch him.

“What  _ else  _ did he say?” she asked coolly, ignoring Reuben’s babbling. 

“He said it was brilliant,” Reuben admitted.

“Oh, okay,” Debbie kept her tone nonchalant, though Reuben’s words made her throat ache just a little.

“And that you would probably end up back in prison.”

“I’m  _ not  _ going to end up back in prison.” She turned to face him as she spoke, fixing him with a serious expression that dared him to contradict her.

He looked at her, and for the first time, she noticed the additional wrinkles on his face. He was older, and so was she. She wasn’t the young woman he probably remembered. She watched him reach a conclusion to trust her judgement just as a horn sounded outside. The butterflies that had settled to rest in her stomach sprung back to life. Her heart hammered. She looked over her shoulder, half expecting to see Lou striding in through the mausoleum door. But no, Lou would wait in the car. She would let Debbie come to her.

“I gotta go,” Debbie told Reuben, barely concealing the giddy smile on her face.

“Be careful,” he said. He sounded excited, sad, and anxious all at once. It was a little unnerving to have her own emotions thrown back at her. Debbie eyed him one last time, took in the garish shirt, the flamboyant coat, the over-large glasses. He was coping, and that was what mattered.

“You’re looking sharp,” she told him. With a final glance at Danny’s name, Debbie turned around and headed for the door, the wheeled suitcase clunking on every crack in the marble floor.

Hallucinations were nothing compared to the surreal experience of walking towards the battered gold Toyota parked between the gravestones. Debbie might have been a ghost – she certainly felt like one, floating down the path. She forced her hands to relax around the handles of the suitcase and the stolen umbrella. Her knees wobbled, and she walked quickly to disguise it, heels meeting pavement in firm steps that she could barely feel. She could see her now, blurry through the rain and the smudged window. Her silhouette was the same – dark, but topped with that shockingly blonde hair. A tingling sensation spread from Debbie’s stomach and trickled down her limbs as though the rain had made its way under her clothes. She felt slightly dizzy. And then she was there, reaching for the handle of the door, folding up her umbrella, shoving everything inside – her heart thudded with each task, a countdown until…

Lou’s arms wrapped around her head and neck, pressing Debbie against her chest. She smelled like leather and cigarettes, like rain and brick and perfume that Debbie couldn’t quite recognize.  _ Too much, not enough _ .

“Hey, take it easy,” she mumbled. Lou pulled away to look at her. “Been in the slammer.”

“Oh, I thought you just changed your number.”

And just like that, the world sharpened and came into focus, and Debbie was home once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, I'm quoting from Sherlock Holmes. It was a while ago that I wrote this, but I'm pretty sure the passage I included is from The Sign of Four. 
> 
> Marcia is an OC I created for The Exigency, and she has more of a role in that fic.


	4. Like Water on a Stain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It took a long time for Lou’s tears to subside. 
> 
> Each time they did, she would glance over Debbie’s shoulder at the wall where the cocaine solution was still dripping down the bricks, and another wave of emotion would flood through her...
> 
> Had Debbie really thought that Lou wouldn’t come back after their fight on the beach? That she was gone for good? That she would spend all night at the club, maybe seek out another younger woman who looked nothing like Debbie? 

_ “There’s a room for you upstairs,” Lou told her. “Your stuff’s upstairs, too. You know, I borrowed some shit – figured you weren’t using it.” She tossed a grin over her shoulder at Debbie, standing near the threshold with her no-doubt-stolen suitcase in front of her. Lou thought she looked small, even confused, but she smiled warmly at Lou’s joke all the same. Lou felt jumpy, couldn’t stop moving around the room, tossing her coat aside and holding out a hand for Debbie’s, fetching cups and filling them with water at the sink. At last she forced herself to stand still. _

_ Debbie had moved a few more feet into the room, leaving her suitcase by the door. Her eyes darted over the loft – the old furniture, the balcony railing, the free-standing metal staircase. She was still smiling, but her gaze seemed a little glassy, uncertain. Lou bit the inside of her cheek and waited. She didn’t have many expectations for this reunion. Debbie smoothed the front of her shirt, and Lou tried not to let her eyes linger on the way it hung from her shoulders a little too loosely. Perhaps it was stolen and it just didn’t fit her properly, Lou reminded herself. Still, Debbie  _ was _ thinner. Lou had noticed it when she hugged her. The muscles in her neck and shoulders looked well used, but Lou could feel each rib even through the thick blue coat she had been wearing. Lou swallowed down a mixture of worry and pity with a gulp of water and held out the other glass to Debbie. _

_ Debbie walked towards her and took the proffered drink. She clinked her glass against Lou’s and smirked before sipping it. Lou grinned, recognizing her own Debbie under the clouds of culture shock surrounding her – surrounding  _ both _ of them, really. Reunions with former lovers were not an everyday occurrence; there was bound to be some awkwardness. Nevertheless, Lou hoped it would pass quickly. She watched Debbie drain her water glass with her eyes closed and then wipe her mouth with the back of her hand. _

_ "I forgot how shitty the water was inside,” Debbie said, speaking for the first time in many minutes. _

_ Lou grimaced. “I can only imagine.” _

_ Debbie nodded and sighed, fiddling with her glass. _

_ Lou cocked her head towards it. “More?” _

_ Debbie blinked and smiled briefly as she handed Lou her glass. “Thanks, baby,” she said quietly. _

_ The pet name burnt a hole in Lou’s lungs and stole her breath. She felt her face grow warm and disguised the reaction by walking away to refill Debbie’s cup. By the time she came back to her, the feeling had passed. Debbie sipped the second glass more slowly. _

_ “You gonna try that perfume?” Debbie asked after a few minutes of tense – though not altogether unpleasant – silence. _

_ “Oh, right,” Lou said. She had forgotten entirely about Debbie’s gift. The hints dropped about the job had driven the perfume and silk scarf out of her mind. Lou fished the bottle out of her pocket and held it up. It was floral, not her usual style. She frowned. _

_ “Trust me,” Debbie said with a grin. “I know it’s not what you normally wear, but I think you’ll like it.” _

_ Lou hesitated for a moment, and then held out the bottle to Debbie. “You should do it.” _

_ Debbie bit her lip, and her eyes met Lou’s completely for the first time since Debbie had hinted about the job – jewels in a vault buried underground. Her eyes were no longer glassy; instead they seemed to pierce right into Lou’s soul. Debbie took the bottle and pushed up the sleeves of her too-big blouse. She dropped her gaze to her own skin and applied the perfume with quick movements, spreading it between her wrists before looking at Lou once more and sweeping her hair out of her face. Lou leaned forward, and Debbie brought the insides of her wrists to the pulse points just under Lou’s jaw, swiping them slowly across her skin with just a hint of friction and heat. Debbie was right; Lou liked the smell – bergamot and orange blossom. But far more enthralling was the sensation of Debbie’s skin against hers, the sight of her lips parting, the soft sound of her breath. _

_ “I like it,” Lou muttered. Her voice felt heavy in her chest, and she thought she saw Debbie shiver. Lou licked her lips. They had completed this ritual many times – Debbie applying gifted perfume to Lou’s neck, Lou leaning forward as the aroma surrounded them, meeting Debbie’s lips with her own. This time, however, Lou didn’t move. Her heart jumped in her throat, and her hands gripped the edge of the countertop behind her. But she couldn’t bring herself to lean forward. Something told her to wait. Debbie’s soft smile faltered and doubt crept into her expression. _

_ “Lou…,” she whispered. _

_ “Debs…,” Lou said at the exact same moment. _

_ And then, without either of them voicing it, the truth was out in the open – a duality of insecurity that kept them apart even after all this time: the questions that didn’t have answers, the still-uncertain future. Lou realized with a sharp pain in her chest that Debbie was as confused and anxious as she was, and oh, after nearly six years in prison, Debbie didn’t deserve that. Lou made up her mind. As Debbie opened her mouth to speak again, Lou closed the space between them at last. She kissed her fiercely for a second, just to get her attention, before easing the pressure into something soft and sweet. Debbie took a step nearer, stepped right into Lou, and kissed back. _

_ Lou groaned as Debbie’s fingers threaded into the hair behind her ears, tugging gently. Lou wrapped her arms around Debbie’s waist, holding her close, holding her  _ up _ in fact as Debbie’s knees wobbled. The feel of her body, the heat of her mouth – Lou couldn’t get enough. She wanted more, and yet, the kiss was too perfect, too ineffable and sacred, too important to cut short. Debbie’s lips were a little rougher than Lou remembered, but they still slid across Lou’s in a familiar dance. And she tasted the same, tasted better than Lou had dared let herself remember. All those years of dreams hadn’t prepared her for this. Something like a sob caught in Lou’s throat and escaped as a whimper that Debbie swallowed hungrily. _

_ Lou was trembling now herself, becoming lightheaded as she refused to break the kiss even to breathe. Slowly, hands secure on Debbie’s waist, Lou pressed her lower back into the side of the kitchen island and bent her knees, guiding Debbie downwards with her until she was straddling Lou with her knees on either side of Lou’s hips on the floor. Debbie sighed and settled into Lou’s lap, kissing her still. Lou let her take control, rested her head against the wood paneling behind her as Debbie licked into her mouth, hands cupping Lou’s jaw. Her fingertips traced Lou’s cheekbones, pushed her fringe from her forehead, ran down her neck to her shoulders. Lou gasped for breath but didn’t break the kiss, merely tugged Debbie closer. There was heat swirling deep inside her now, but it wasn’t urgent, didn’t matter yet, because – for the first time in ten years, for the first time  _ ever _ – they had all the time in the world. _

**

It took a long time for Lou’s tears to subside. Each time they did, she would glance over Debbie’s shoulder at the wall where the cocaine solution was still dripping down the bricks, and another wave of emotion would flood through her. She held Debbie so tightly against her chest that there would probably be bruises spattered across Debbie’s upper back to match the ones on Lou’s wrists where Debbie’s fingers had gripped her like a vice. Debbie’s hair stuck to the tear tracks on Lou’s cheeks, and her shirt rumpled under Lou’s palms.

Eventually, as Debbie showed no signs of resurfacing, Lou realized she would have to move her. She sniffed and took a few steadying breaths, gathering her own strength. She unclenched her fists from where they clasped Debbie’s shirt and gently slid her hands down Debbie’s back. She bent her own knees, aware that Debbie’s dead weight was bound to feel heavy even if she was skinnier than she should be. Lou wrapped her arms around the tops of Debbie’s thighs and straightened up. She tipped over Lou’s shoulder, and Lou almost lost her balance, but she leaned her back against the closet door for a moment and clenched the muscles in her abdomen. Steady once more, she walked slowly towards the bed and laid set Debbie on the edge, tipping her back onto the mattress and then moving to hoist her legs up separately.

Once she was settled, Lou wiped her sweating palms on her thighs and looked around at the room. It was smaller than her own, and Debbie hadn’t spent much time in here, preferring to sleep with Lou. The floral curtains were pulled tight over the windows, and Lou smiled sadly at them, remembering her warning to Debbie that she had better close them to prevent the sunrise from waking her up. Debbie had closed them tonight – clearly, she had been intending to sleep here. Had she really thought that Lou wouldn’t come back after their fight on the beach? That she was gone for good? That she would spend all night at the club, maybe seek out another younger woman who looked nothing like Debbie? 

Lou shook her head. No, Debbie had been afraid that Lou would walk. It was that simple. And who could blame her, really? The threat had come from Lou’s own mouth. Lou rested her palm against Debbie’s cheek, splaying her fingers so she could feel the beat of her pulse just under her jaw. It was a little faster than it should be, and with a jolt, Lou remembered the night a few weeks ago when she had returned from the club to find Debbie asleep, but fitful. Her heart had raced sporadically all night, and the next morning, she had been sick. Lou's stomach sank. This wasn’t the first time.

Lou was too tired to be angry, but she turned away from Debbie and knelt to sweep the shards of glass from the smashed bottle into her hand. They were damp, and she felt her fingertips tingling by the time she reached the bathroom and flushed them away. She washed her hands thoroughly before remembering the syringe. She returned to Debbie’s room and surveyed the floor, but the syringe must have rolled under the bed. Quietly so as not to disturb Debbie, Lou got down on her hands and knees. She found the needle caught on the lip of a protruding floorboard. Holding it by the half-compressed plunger, Lou carried it to the bathroom and flushed the entire instrument down the toilet. She let out her breath, which she hadn’t realized she was holding, in a huff that made her fringe flutter in front of her eyes. All at once, Lou felt exhausted.

Back in Debbie’s bedroom, Lou hesitated for the space of a few heartbeats before she began to undress. She couldn’t – wouldn’t – leave Debbie alone tonight. She folded her leather pants, her bomber jacket, her vest, and piled her necklaces and tie on top. Though it felt like a slight invasion of Debbie’s privacy, Lou pulled open the door to the closet and grabbed the first relatively comfortable item she could find – an old silk camisole that she remembered Debbie stealing at least fifteen years previously. Debbie’s scent on the silk was comforting, if bittersweet. Lou felt like she was losing her. Perhaps the Debbie she had known ten years ago didn’t exist anymore. But she smelled the same, and somehow, that counted for something. Lou pulled the shirt on over her head. 

Debbie was still in the exact position where Lou had left her. Her chest was rising and falling steadily beneath her black blouse. She had been wearing jeans earlier on the beach, Lou remembered, but she had changed into leggings sometime in the evening. Knowing how much Debbie hated sleeping in anything other than a shirt, Lou set about helping her undress. It wasn’t easy. Debbie was out cold, and her limbs didn’t seem to want to cooperate even under Lou’s guidance. Nevertheless, Lou managed to roll her leggings down and off, trying desperately not to remember the last time she undressed her. After her leggings, Lou started on her shirt, carefully undoing each button. The silk fell open, and Lou stifled a gasp in her hand. Across her left side, just under the cup of her bra, there was a twisting, ivory-white scar. It wasn't recent, but even so, Lou felt a burning pain at the top of her own rib cage at the sight of it.

“What did they do to you?” Lou muttered, ghosting her fingertips over the knotted flesh, not quite touching. Debbie shifted on the bed, and Lou tore her eyes away from the scar to search for signs of waking. But Debbie merely turned her head the opposite direction on her pillow and slept on. Swallowing hard against the loathing for whomever had caused Debbie’s injury, Lou wiggled a hand beneath her and unhooked her bra, tossing the garment aside without looking at her. Lou draped Debbie’s shirt back over her chest by feel, affording her some privacy, and then carefully redid the buttons. She left the top three undone. Debbie always said that too many buttons made her feel strangled.

Lou was finding it difficult to keep her eyes open. She tugged the bedspread and sheet out from under Debbie, crawled into the other side of the bed, and reached over Debbie to turn off the lamp on the bedside table. In the darkness, Lou pulled the blankets up around both of them and settled herself against Debbie’s side. She felt unbelievably lonely even as she listened to the steady sound of Debbie’s breathing. As she drifted off, Lou was conscious of two facts: Debbie was hurting, but Debbie was still her home.

**

Lou awoke slowly, and the first thing she was aware of was a pounding headache and a tacky heaviness to her eyelids that indicated a combination of leftover tears and mascara. She groaned quietly, wondering what had awoken her. The room was dark, and she could feel Debbie’s weight next to her under the blankets. Slowly so as not to awaken her, Lou sat up and reached for the water glass on her bedside table. Her hand met air, and she flailed for a moment before remembering that they were sleeping in Debbie’s room, not her own. The dryness in her mouth was persistent, and Lou knew she wouldn’t get back to sleep without quenching her thirst. She slid from the bed and tip-toed from the room and down the hall to the bathroom. The chill of the water stung her sleep-warmed skin, but she swallowed four mouthfuls from her cupped hands before padding back to Debbie. 

She was just crawling between the blankets, when she heard a soft sound from Debbie’s side of the bed – a moan, followed by a broken sob. She leaned over Debbie, squinting through the darkness. Debbie wasn’t moving, but her face was far from relaxed – eyes darting under her eyelids, eyebrows knitted, jaw tense. Lou knew at once that it must have been Debbie who had awoken her, stuck in a nightmare. Grimly, Lou remembered the drug induced dreams she had come to dread in the years after Debbie went to prison. She sighed.

“Debs?” she said, shaking her shoulder.

Debbie’s eyelids fluttered but she didn’t wake up.

"Debbie,” Lou said more loudly.

With a gasp, Debbie’s eyes flew open, and she sat up. Lou threw herself out of the way to avoid knocking heads.

“Christ, D—”

“Lou?” Debbie’s voice was confused, almost sad.

“Yeah, I—I’m here.” Lou frowned at her.

“I didn’t think you’d come back,” Debbie said quietly.

“I said I would, didn’t I?” Lou said, a little sheepishly.

Debbie nodded. “Yeah, but I—”

“I know, I know. I left before.” Lou lay back down and turned away from Debbie. She felt defeated. She couldn’t have this same argument again.

“Oh, Lou, that’s not…”

“That’s what you said, Debs,” Lou muttered, and as hard as she tried to keep her tone icy, she couldn’t prevent her voice from cracking.

“What I…?”

Anger and sadness clawed at Lou’s throat. “You were high, Debbie.” Her voice came out louder than she intended. “You were high and drunk and…” She thought of Debbie rushing towards her with fury in her eyes, but she couldn’t bring herself to put words to that moment.

Debbie was silent for a long moment. Then, voice trembling, she spoke, “Did I hurt you?”

Under the cover of darkness, Lou rolled both of her wrists. They ached dully, and she knew the bruising would be hard to hide in the morning. Still, they would heal, and guilt wouldn’t help Debbie in this situation. “Not much,” she told her. “I’ll be okay.”

“Not  _ much _ ?”

Lou smiled sadly even though she knew Debbie couldn’t see her. “Just a little. I know you didn’t mean to.”

“Show me?” Debbie touched Lou’s shoulder and tugged gently. Lou resisted for a moment, but then rolled onto her other side to face her. She nudged her wrists against Debbie’s chest and felt her heart clench as she remembered the scar on Debbie’s left side.

“It’s not as bad as what happened to you,” Lou said quietly as Debbie caressed her hands. She heard Debbie’s breath hitch.

“You saw?”

“Yeah. But don’t worry,” Lou hastened to add. “I didn’t look at anything else. Just helped you get changed after you passed out.” Lou was feeling calmer. Debbie’s fingers continued to trace spirals on the insides of her wrists.

Debbie laughed quietly. “Lou, we’ve—”

“I know, but I didn’t want…”

“I know,” Debbie said. She was silent again. Lou would have thought she had fallen asleep, except that her fingers continued to move across her skin. Gradually, Debbie moved nearer until she was pressed up against Lou’s body. Her nose brushed Lou’s, and one hand dropped from Lou’s hands to find Lou’s hip, tugging her nearer. Lou followed the encouragement, melted into her and sighed.

“I missed you,” Lou whispered.

Debbie hummed a noise of agreement. Her fingers toyed with the hem of the silk camisole. “This is mine,” she murmured.

“Yeah,” Lou said softly. “Borrowed it.” Her heart beat faster as Debbie’s palm slid under the shirt. A warm tingling sensation spread down her limbs.

“Baby?”

“Mm hmm?”

“Kiss me.” There was a pleading note in Debbie’s tone that made Lou’s heart clench. She wondered what Debbie’s nightmare had been about, but before letting herself worry too much, she leaned forward, nudging her nose against Debbie’s cheek and pressing their lips together. Debbie arched into her, locking their legs together. A moan escaped from Lou’s throat. Debbie’s hand stroked up and down Lou’s side, then slid inwards to palm her breast. Lou gasped, a little surprised at how quickly her body responded. But then, it had been ten years since she had been touched like this, ten years since she had  _ wanted  _ this. And oh, how she wanted it. Her entire body came alight for Debbie as it did for no one else, and for a moment, Lou could pretend that no time had passed. Debbie’s touch was skilled and precise, flicking over sensitive spots that Lou herself had forgotten, tracing over her stomach to tug at the waistband of her underwear…But then, all at once, Lou remembered the unfocused expression that had clouded Debbie’s features over the past few weeks, she remembered the smirk on Debbie’s face on the beach, she remembered the needle and the vial of liquid and the grip of Debbie’s fingers around her wrists.

Lou pulled away from Debbie with a gasp. “I can’t,” she muttered. She leaned her forehead into Debbie’s, breathing hard. “Not yet.” 

“I  _ want  _ you, Lou,” Debbie said with certainty. She pressed her palm against Lou’s chest, and Lou knew she could feel the quickened pace of her heart. “You want me, too,” she added in a whisper.

Lou grimaced and squeezed her eyes shut. “I do,” she said.

“But…?” Debbie prompted, and the sadness in her voice nearly broke Lou’s resolve.

“ _ But _ ,” Lou went on, “you scared me. Last night, you…I know you were high, and trust me, I know that you didn’t mean everything you said but…”

Debbie’s hands stilled. “What did I say?”

“You said that maybe I don’t know you as well as I think I do, and I think you’re right.” 

“ _ L _ —”

“No, let me finish,” Lou said. “Please.” She wrapped her fingers around Debbie’s and squeezed her hand reassuringly. “I  _ want  _ to know you, Debs. More than anything. I want to understand about…about Claude.” Debbie shifted uncomfortably, but didn’t speak. Lou ploughed on. “I want to know about prison. I want to know…” Lou swallowed hard. “I want to know why you…why I had to…” She broke off. She couldn’t say it.

“The drugs?” Debbie asked.

“Yes,” Lou said through a sigh. “And I’m sorry. Because I  _ do  _ want you.” She released Debbie’s hand and cupped her cheek. “I came back, didn’t I?”

Debbie turned her head and placed a kiss on Lou’s palm. “You did. Are you going to stay?” She slid her hand from Lou’s chest back to her side, soothing now. 

Lou remembered her resolve when she had left the club last night and the options that had seemed so clear in that moment, but which had been wiped from her mind by the sight of Debbie about to use. “If you can explain Claude to me,” she told Debbie in a steady, quiet voice, “then I’ll stay. I’ll run the job. If you can’t, well…” Lou shrugged. “As far as the job is concerned, I’ll walk. But I won’t leave  _ you _ , Debs. I’ll stay, and it’ll be your choice whether you run the job without me or not.”

Debbie let out her breath in a long sigh. Lou felt her relax. “It doesn’t work without you, baby,” she said quietly.

“Then convince me,” Lou said, stroking her thumb across Debbie’s cheek. “Please.”

Debbie fell silent, and eventually her breathing became deep and slow. Her hand still rested on Lou’s side, soft and warm under her shirt. Through the crack between the curtains on the window, Lou watched the grey light of dawn slowly grow as minutes and hours ticked by. Every so often she surveyed Debbie’s face, looking for signs of another nightmare, but her expression remained calm and peaceful this time. The heist – only six days away – seemed like a distant future. So much would need to be said and explained before Monday. There was an edge of fear in the pit of Lou’s stomach, telling her that there would be no resolution, that Debbie was too proud, too stubborn. But Lou could hope, and when Debbie’s eyelids blinked open at last, deep brown eyes finding Lou’s immediately, Lou knew they had a chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the chronology isn't getting confusing. From here on out, it'll be mostly linear (thought not entirely), so if you're ever confused, don't hesitate to ask :)


	5. I Am Hiding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moving around Lou but not speaking, passing like shadows through the loft - Debbie knew she couldn’t get used to this. 
> 
> Whatever the circumstances, she wanted Lou close. 
> 
> Their thoughts wrapped around each other in an almost tangible web. Lou’s presence tugged on Debbie’s conscience, and Lou’s eyes flitted to hers every so often. Her gaze was deep and contemplative. Debbie’s own mind dwelled on making amends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a bit later today than usual! 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy :)

The first thing that Debbie saw as she opened her eyes was Lou’s face mere inches from her own. A wave of peace washed over her, and for a lingering moment she considered closing her eyes again, just to savor the warmth of their bodies pressed close under the blankets. 

A second later, memories of the night before rushed back to her, and shame rapidly replaced peace, clawing at Debbie’s chest. She dropped her eyes from Lou’s gaze and fought against a lump that rose in her throat. Vague images of Lou standing above her, of her own fingers around Lou’s wrists, of the disappointment in Lou’s eyes flashed through Debbie’s mind, coupled with an overwhelming pressure to  _ explain _ , to  _ convince _ . Their late-night conversation was fresh and clear in her mind, and the memory of Lou pulling away even as Debbie’s fingers danced over her skin sent a fresh wave of guilt through Debbie, making her stomach churn.

Debbie untangled her legs from Lou’s, and the fact that she didn’t resist only confirmed Debbie’s deepest insecurities. Her skin felt cold immediately, but Debbie welcomed the discomfort. She didn’t deserve warmth or intimacy right now. No, right now she deserved the bile that was rising in her throat, sending her flying from the bed and towards the door. She reached the bathroom just in time to sink to her knees and dry heave over the toilet bowl. She spat bile into the toilet, but even as her stomach churned again, there wasn’t enough in her system for anything to make a reappearance. Debbie pushed herself back and sat against the wall across from the toilet, legs tingling where they touched the icy tile floor. She wrapped her arms around her stomach, bunching the fabric of the silk shirt that she barely remembered changing into yesterday. After Lou had stormed off. After Debbie’s whole world had seemed to splinter before her eyes.

The room spun around her.

Debbie leaned her head back against the wall and felt wetness around her eyes. She could feel the frantic pounding of her heart against her ribcage where her knuckles rubbed hard enough to bruise. Her thumb slid across the bumpy scar around her left breast, and a fresh wave of shame and disappointment spread through her. She had wanted to tell Lou properly, to let her prepare, to make sure she knew that the danger had passed. Instead, Lou had been confronted with the brutal reality of Debbie’s first year in prison with no context and no comfort. Debbie stared up at the ceiling. There were no cork board tiles here with dots to count, nor any ordered boards with cracks to memorize – just flat, white-washed plaster. It was  _ nothing _ , and she was nothing. The job – the one thing she was good at – hung by a thread, and without that…

There was a knock on the door, and before Debbie could bend her tone into something pleasant and call out that she was almost done, that there was nothing to worry about, Lou entered the room. Her legs seemed to go on for miles below the hem of the silk camisole, and Debbie hated the tickle of arousal that stirred at the base of her spine. Lou was worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, her eyes were wide with concern, and her brow was furrowed. Debbie looked away from her, staring down at her own legs, curled beneath her on the tile. Her mouth tasted sour and felt like sandpaper; she ran her tongue across her teeth.

“Hey,” Lou said, crouching down in front of her.

Debbie tilted her chin a fraction of an inch towards Lou, but she didn’t look at her, couldn’t bear the disappointment in Lou’s eyes, nor the sight of bruises on her wrists that were no doubt blooming purple by now. Lou always bruised so easily.

“What do you need, Debs?” Lou asked quietly.

Debbie had expected kindness, and she had expected it to hurt. But nothing could have prepared her for this, for the way Lou’s words cut into her heart, softening her against her will. She squeezed her eyes shut and felt her lip tremble. There was pressure behind her cheekbones making it difficult to breathe, and her throat seemed to be closing as a lump rose in it. At the same moment, a wave of sickness churned her stomach once more, and she lurched forward to heave over the toilet bowl. Yet again, nothing came up but bile, but the movement seemed to have dislodged her tears, which now flowed freely down her cheeks. Lou’s hand was warm against the middle of Debbie’s back, and as comforting as it was, Debbie shrugged it away.

“I can’t do it,” Debbie said. Her raw throat protested as she spoke, and the words came out in a hoarse whisper.

“Do…what?” Lou asked. She sounded confused, and Debbie couldn’t understand why. Lou was the one who had given her an impossible choice. Anger flared inside Debbie for a moment, but it was quickly quelled by another surge of guilt.

“I can’t explain Claude, and I can’t do it without him,” she muttered. “I just  _ can’t _ , Lou. And for the record…” Debbie sat back on her heels and wiped her eyes and then her mouth with her fingers. “…The drugs didn’t work this time. I didn’t figure anything out, didn’t have a chance to, I guess. I wish they  _ had  _ worked,” she ploughed on before Lou could interrupt her, “then I would know how to keep you around.”

“Debbie…”

“Lou.” And at last, Debbie looked at her, met her ice blue gaze without bothering to wipe away the wetness in her eyes. “I want…I  _ need _ to run this job.”

“Then  _ talk  _ to me, honey, for Christ’s sake,” Lou said. She gave a humorless laugh. “Tell me why he needs to go down, tell me why you lied to me, and we can make it work, I promise.” She reached towards Debbie once more, but Debbie didn’t take her hand. She was thinking, thinking about Claude and the way he made her feel like nothing – not all at once, not with harsh words out of nowhere. No, the whole game had been incredibly subtle – little jibes here and there, words that stung, but didn’t quite penetrate her skin. Over time, he had broken down her defenses, distracted her from the cunning of her own mind. Debbie was aware of the pounding of her heart, of a hollow feeling deep in her belly, of sweat on her palms. She couldn’t focus like this, couldn't remember anything about the Met, the Toussaint…

“I can’t talk about it,” she said, more harshly than she meant to.

“You talked to Tammy,” Lou replied, matching her tone. “How come she—?”

“I didn’t tell her the whole truth, Lou! God, I haven’t told anyone, not even Danny, and he’s fucking  _ dead _ .” She gasped before the words had fully left her mouth. Did she really believe that? She hadn’t decided yet.

Lou furrowed her brow. “What are you saying? Debbie, what did Becker…?”

Debbie sighed, trying to make her breaths last as long as possible even as the rapid pounding of her heart urged her to gasp for air. “He…he,” she stammered. “He hurt me.” It was all she could say, but even those simple words – words that Lou might have guessed anyway – lightened the pressure on her chest.

Lou’s eyes traced over her, coming to rest on the spot on her left torso where Debbie’s scar was concealed. “Shit, did he—?” 

“No,  _ no _ , baby, nothing like that.” Debbie reached for Lou’s hand at last as the pet name fell easily from her lips. Whatever tension lay between them, she couldn’t have Lou thinking that Claude had tried to kill her. Even if that would get Lou on her side about the job, it wasn’t the truth.

Lou squeezed her hand. “Then…what?” she asked gently. 

Debbie considered the question, but even a few seconds of thought brought her heart rate up and caused a shiver to run through her. “It’s complicated,” she said, begging Lou to understand. “He hurt me, I know that. I know he needs to go down.” Debbie felt herself saying the words, even as her mind seemed to drift away from her body, escaping the discomfort of  _ self _ . “I need you to trust me,” she said weakly. “ _ Please _ , Lou.”

Lou gently disentangled their fingers. “Will you tell me once it’s all over?” she asked after a moment of pondering the tiles on the floor.

Debbie hesitated, but the answer was obvious, really. “Yes,” she said firmly. “Yes, I will.”

Lou nodded, but didn’t look up from the tiles. “And the drugs?”

Debbie felt the panic rise again. She clenched and unclenched her fists in the silk fabric of her shirt. “I…”

“Tell you what,” Lou said, and there was a hint of a smile in her tone that Debbie didn’t understand. “I have a feeling we both have a lot to come clean about. Just…” She sighed. Debbie looked at her and met her gaze. “Promise me…,” Lou began, but then she stopped herself. “No, I can’t ask that.” She shook her head and looked back down at the floor.

“I don’t want to use again,” Debbie said softly.

Lou smiled sadly. “I know you don’t.” But Debbie could read other words in the tilt of Lou’s chin, in the darting of her eyes over Debbie’s face.  _ She understands,  _ Debbie realized suddenly, and she thought of Lou by herself for all those years, of how Tammy had told her that Lou wasn’t taking care of herself during the first few years of her sentence. Debbie’s stomach sank.

“I  _ will  _ tell you the whole story,” she said, steeling herself to hold Lou’s gaze. “After Monday…”

Lou nodded, but her brow was furrowed. Debbie knew she was thinking hard. In the stillness, Debbie felt her muscles begin to loosen. Whatever happened now, at least she had gotten everything she needed to say out in the open. There was a single, frosted window in the bathroom that let in the stark, cold light of dawn. As Lou sat silent, pondering, Debbie traced a sunbeam that glanced off the windowsill to the stainless-steel sink. The reflection was almost blinding. Her heart rate began to slow, gradually at first, but at last Debbie felt like she could take a deep breath. An ache in her temple told her that she needed water and food, but those could both wait. Lou was more important.

At last, Lou stirred. “I wish you could tell me about him,” she said slowly.

Debbie opened her mouth to respond, unsure of whether to be defensive or apologetic.

“No,” Lou said, forestalling her, “It’s okay. I get it.” She gave Debbie a weak smile. “If you say he hurt you, well…” She shrugged. “I believe you. And I’m sorry.”

Debbie gave her a nod, but she had a feeling Lou wasn’t done.

Lou swallowed hard. “I have to think, Debs,” she said quietly. Her voice came out choked, as if she were fighting back tears. “I want…” She swallowed again and blinked rapidly. “I want to trust you, honey, but…”

“But I’m not making it easy?”

“You could say that.”

Debbie nodded. Her eyes fell on the purple bruises, which were, sure enough, standing out in sharp contrast to Lou’s ivory skin. She reached out and traced one with her finger. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

Lou was silent, but she didn’t flinch at the touch of Debbie’s fingers on her skin. After several long moments, which felt like several long years, Lou sighed. “I promise I’ll make a decision by the time everyone comes back on Sunday,” she said. “Until then…well, if there’s anything that you  _ can  _ tell me, I’m all ears. And if I’m being honest, Debbie, it’s less about Claude and more about you. You lied to me, let me believe that you were using someone else. If you say Claude hurt you, beyond the part where he got you sent to prison, well…I get it. But I need to be able to trust you. I need to go into Monday knowing…” Lou drew a shuddering breath as her voice shook. “I need to know you’ve thought this through, that you’ll be focused on the jewels and not on him, that…that…” Lou groaned, clearly frustrated by the emotion in her tone and the tears welling in her eyes. Debbie wanted to wipe them away, but she pressed her lips together and steeled herself to  _ listen _ . “You can’t go back to prison,” Lou said at last. “You just  _ can’t _ .” Her voice broke on the last word. 

Debbie felt ashamed again. Lou in all her kindness and her decency was worried about her, not about the job. She might not like the idea of framing Becker, but it wasn’t really about that. It was about the list that Debbie had made with Tammy’s help two weeks ago – the list of men who could all serve as potential marks, the list Debbie had presented to Lou on the very day that she had confirmed Claude’s involvement with Tammy. It had felt so easy to lie, to convince herself that in doing so, she was only protecting Lou from worrying. Debbie had convinced herself that by this point in the job, everything would be so secure that Lou wouldn’t care one way or another.  _ Well _ , she thought,  _ you got that wrong. _

It was probably about the drugs, too, Debbie acknowledged to herself, still staring down at her hands. When she bought the cocaine with stolen money on her first day of parole, Debbie had planned to use it for the job and only in dire circumstances – if Daphne Kluger died in a freak accident, if the Gala were cancelled, if the Met burned down. But in the end, both times she used had been all about herself, about figuring out who she was again – to the world, to herself, to  _ Lou _ . Debbie felt stuck, unable to raise her head and look at the woman in front of her. Lou remained silent, but Debbie could hear her breaths – a little shallower than usual. Her own breaths scraped at the back of her throat. At last, she opened her mouth, but it took an extra second for the words to form.

“I’ll try,” she said hoarsely.

Lou reached out and squeezed her hand once. Debbie wanted to hold onto it forever, but Lou was already getting to her feet, smoothing the front of the silk camisole, and turning away from her. Seconds later, the bathroom door closed behind Lou with a snap, and Debbie was left alone on the cold tile floor with nothing but her own self-loathing for company.

**

Fortunately for Debbie, there were a few loose ends of the heist to take care of, and she welcomed the distraction. They still needed a catering van with the inconspicuous logo of “Glorious Foods” – a completely legitimate business as far as at least a dozen layers of the internet were concerned – painted on the side. Nine Ball and Lou’s food truck was ready to go, complete with menus, hot sauce, and enough computer power to hack into the NSA. The catering truck was more of a problem, seeing as the vehicle needed to carry well-over three-hundred million dollars-worth of jewels from the Met to Brooklyn without detection. Just as she herself would be hiding in plain sight on Monday night, the van had to blend into its surroundings without trying too hard to be invisible. Debbie had been meaning to ask Constance to paint the side of the van with the logo Nine Ball had designed, but now it was her own damn fault that Constance was swimming in Tammy’s heated pool in the suburbs while she stood behind the warehouse wearing old clothes and carrying a bucket of gold paint.

Debbie set down the paint and mashed the rough bristles of a paintbrush against the palm of her hand. She didn’t have any talent for this, and she wasn’t sure if it really mattered anyway. If Lou didn’t agree to continue with the job, then there  _ was no job _ . She could barely explain to herself why Claude was the one she had to take down. She had been betrayed before, and she certainly had enemies. Her scar proved that. But something about him stuck in her throat and got under her skin. The problem was that in order to frame Claude, she needed Lou. She dragged the paintbrush across her skin, and the tingling in her fingertips reminded her that she was real and that she had a job to do. The lid of the paint can pried open easily, and Debbie set it aside. She dipped the brush in the paint and let the excess drip back into the can, mesmerized by the shiny gold droplets. Then she stood back and looked at the side of the van in front of her. Nine had sketched a few lines here and there with a soft, graphite pencil, but they were just guidelines. Debbie sighed.

“Want some help with that?” a voice called behind her.

Debbie jumped, splattering paint down the front of her old, gray flannel. “Hey,” she said, squinting at Lou through the sun and trying to cover up her moment of surprise.

Lou smirked and the familiarity of the expression warmed Debbie’s heart. “Sorry I startled you,” she said. 

Debbie shook her head. “Don’t worry about it,” she replied. Lou came to stand next to her with her arms crossed, surveying the van.

“You sure you’re up to this?” Lou teased. Even though she knew Lou was only trying to lessen the tension between them, the words still stung. It felt like there was more behind them than just the catering van. 

Debbie shrugged. “Probably not,” she said shortly. Hadn’t they spent enough time dwelling on her inadequacies for one day?

“Do you want my help?”

Debbie shot her a withering look.

Lou rolled her eyes and held up her hands. “I’m offering.”

Debbie scoffed. “You’ll help me paint a van, but you won’t help me take down the man who threw me in prison?”

Lou sighed heavily but she didn’t snap back. Debbie wished she would. Lou’s righteousness was starting to annoy her.

“Help if you want,” Debbie said with a shrug, holding out a second paintbrush.

Lou took it and slapped it against her palm a few times. The noise echoed a little off the brick walls of the warehouse and the metal siding of the abandoned sheds by the bay. Bending down, Lou examined the printed version of Nine Ball’s logo, which Debbie had let fall next to the paint can. Lou looked at the van, then back at the paper several times before straightening up and giving Debbie a strained smile.

“Come on,” she said, “Let’s get to work.”

The afternoon wore away, and Debbie grudgingly admitted that it felt good to work by Lou’s side, filling in the patterns and letters as Lou outlined them. She was good with her hands –  _ very _ good, in fact. Debbie shivered at the memory of pleasures from over a decade ago and admired Lou’s skill with the paintbrush. Debbie liked watching her even though shame and fear still clung to the inside of her stomach. Dutifully, she filled in the design that Lou outlined, carefully staying within the lines. They didn’t speak, didn’t even look at each other. Despite everything, they could still work as a seamless team – countering each other’s movements, noticing inconsistencies, correcting, perfecting.

The realization hit Debbie all at once, out of nowhere.

“I didn’t like who I was with him,” she blurted out.

Lou turned to look at her, eyebrows raised. A dollop of paint dripped from her brush onto the ground.

“It isn’t just about what he did to me,” Debbie went on, filling in a curving vine around the left side of the letters. “It’s that some part of me wanted to be the person he thought I was – meek, dependent, heartbroken, smart enough to run a job but not to plan one.”

Lou turned back to the van and finished the outline of the final ‘s’ in “Glorious Foods.” Debbie finished the vine she had been working on and began filling in the letter. Her heart was beating hard and fast again, but just saying the words – realizing the truth – lessened the invisible weight on her shoulders.

“I like who I am with you,” Debbie said quietly. The words were barely audible over the crunch of gravel under her feet as she turned back towards her.

Lou frowned, and Debbie knew she was thinking about the past five weeks, about the distance between them, about the lies and the drugs.

“I liked who I  _ was  _ with you,” Debbie amended. “Most of the time, anyway.” She gave Lou a small smile.

Lou’s eyes were wet as she looked at Debbie, full of concern once more. “Me too, Debs,” she said. Her voice shook.

“This job is about a whole lot more than framing Claude,” Debbie told her. “It’s about working together again, it’s about the take.” She swallowed hard. “This isn’t like last time, Lou. I’m not distracted. I’m not running a job in a job, like when I was trying to prove I was better than Danny, better than  _ everyone _ .” She kept her voice steady and soft, talking herself through the logic of it even as she explained the truth to Lou. “I just know I need to do it. All of it. I need to steal the jewels; I need to take him down; I need to work with you. It’s all or nothing, baby.” 

Without waiting for a response, Debbie dropped her paintbrush onto the ground, wiped her hands on her jeans, and crunched her way through the gravel towards the door to the warehouse. She heard Lou sniff loudly behind her, but she didn’t turn around, didn’t even slow down until she reached the living room. The turntable under the window drew her eye, and Debbie paused briefly before veering off-course towards it. She flipped through the pile of records - Lou’s favorites, it seemed. Debbie recognized the covers, but she couldn’t remember the songs. They weren’t  _ hers _ . 

She placed the records back on the pile and was turning away when she noticed a peeling corner in the middle of the stack that looked familiar. Carefully, Debbie pulled out the album and gazed at the tattered cover. Glenn Gould glowered back at her. She traced the name “Bach” in the upper left hand corner with her fingertip. Lou had shown her the box of records in the closet upstairs, but Debbie hadn’t had a chance to unpack them yet. It hadn’t occurred to her that Lou might have kept a few mixed in with her own. The thought made her feel a little weak at the knees. With well-practiced fingers, Debbie slid the vinyl under the needle and set it to spin. She closed her eyes. 

**

Moving around Lou but not speaking, passing like shadows through the loft - Debbie knew she couldn’t get used to this. Whatever the circumstances, she wanted Lou close. Watching her from afar felt wrong, and yet, it was all they had at the moment. It had to be enough. Lou wasn’t ignoring her, Debbie knew that. No, their thoughts wrapped around each other in an almost tangible web. Lou’s presence tugged on Debbie’s conscience, and Lou’s eyes flitted to hers every so often. Her gaze was deep and contemplative. Debbie’s own mind dwelled on making amends.

But there was nothing more she could say. The long wait between Tuesday and Sunday stretched like an eternity before her. How long would it take for Lou to make up her mind? Prison had felt endless, but now a mere five days of uncertainty were pushing Debbie towards desperation. She took a deep breath and ran over the job for the thousandth, millionth time. One thing was certain, if Lou agreed to stay, this really would be the jewelry heist of the century. 

By evening, Debbie was almost used to the distance between them. She certainly didn’t expect Lou to follow her into her bedroom - the room that barely felt like hers, since she had shared Lou’s bed almost every single night since her release from prison. When Debbie turned around to see Lou standing in the doorway, she hid her surprise under a small smile. Lou was wearing a long T-shirt and nothing else. Her face was free of makeup, and she had her gold tortoise-shell patterned glasses perched on her nose. An odd sensation flooded Debbie’s stomach and spread out to her fingers and toes. She felt lighter immediately. 

“Hi,” she said, smiling more widely.

Lou looked down at her toes. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you hadn’t changed and everything.” She gestured at the shirt Debbie had laid out on the bed. It was an old one of Lou’s that she preferred to sleep in. Debbie found Lou’s preoccupation with nudity both endearing and incongruous. 

“No problem,” she said. Without hesitating, though the thought of Lou seeing her was more than enough to increase her heart rate, Debbie pulled the shirt she was wearing over her head. Lou’s eyes dropped to her scar immediately. “I’m okay, baby,” Debbie said quietly. She was touched by Lou’s concern, even though she wasn’t ready to talk about the stabbing. She turned around to remove her bra and slip the sleep shirt over her head. It fell to the middle of her thighs, brushing against her jeans, which she removed a moment later and tossed aside. Lou took a hesitant step towards the bed, fiddling with her rings the way she always did when she was uncertain. 

“Do you mind if I…?” Lou asked. 

“Not at all,” Debbie replied. She pulled back the covers and sat down on the edge of the bed with her back to Lou. It felt natural to have her there, even if Debbie hadn’t been expecting it. 

“I’m not ready to leave you by yourself,” Lou said quietly behind her. 

Debbie smiled to herself. “I don’t think I want you to,” she admitted. 

“With the drugs and everything…” 

“Oh.” Debbie hadn’t been thinking about the drugs. Her mind dwelt on missing Lou, on how right it felt to have her in arm’s reach once more. 

“I mean,” Lou backtracked, “it’s not  _ only _ th--” 

“It’s okay,” Debbie said sharply. Her tone was angrier than she intended. All she felt was icy disappointment. 

“Debs…” Lou sounded apologetic, yet resolute. Debbie felt her sit down on the other side of the bed and then slide under the blankets. 

“No, Lou, you’re right. I wouldn’t trust me either.” Debbie didn’t like the overly earnest tone that was finding its way into her voice without her intention. 

“I’m worried about you,” Lou said softly. 

Debbie turned to look at her over her shoulder. “I know,” she said coldly. “That’s what all of this is about.” 

Lou blinked. She looked hurt, gazing up at Debbie with her brow slightly furrowed. After a moment of silence, she looked away. Debbie looked back at her own lap and picked at her thumbnail. She heard Lou turn over, heard the click of the bedside lamp. The light in the room dimmed, and Debbie watched the shadows cast by her now-solitary lamp play across her hands. A minute ticked by. Her mind was blank, worn out by confusion and apologies. She concentrated on her breathing, trying to make each breath last as long as possible. Eventually, she slipped her legs under the blankets and turned off the light. The darkness felt safer somehow. She could pretend she was alone. Better yet, she could pretend that Lou was there under happier circumstances, that Lou would curl around her and hold her through the night. 

More often than not these days, she would sit up half-awake and confused in the middle of the night, thinking she was back in prison. She didn’t dream - not anything she could remember, anyway. But she could almost see the shapes of guards in the shadows. Almost hear the sound of water that masked the footsteps behind her in the showers. Almost feel the rough cinder blocks, the cold bars, the smooth tiles, slippery with her own blood. 

_ Don’t think about that _ , Debbie chided herself with a shiver. The scar on her left side tingled. And sometimes it was worse. Sometimes it was Claude in the shadows, and she never knew when he would step forward and...  _ No _ , Debbie thought, rubbing the heels of her hands into her eyes.  _ Not again.  _ For weeks now, the threats had dissipated as soon as she felt Lou’s arm around her - protective and warm. And so, Debbie listened to Lou’s breathing and pushed the hurt in Lou’s eyes to the back of her mind. Whatever happened, Lou had said she would stay. Whatever happened, Debbie would tell her the truth - about the drugs, about Claude, about prison. She would find the words for Lou, even if she hadn’t ever been able to do it for herself. Whatever happened, Debbie loved her. 

The realization hit her in the chest. Her eyes, which had fluttered closed mere seconds ago, flew open. She loved her. 

She  _ loved  _ Lou Miller. Had always loved her, maybe, ever since that cold, January night when they met nearly twenty years ago in the alley behind a club they were both trying to rob. 

Debbie turned over. She could feel Lou’s warmth, though she couldn’t quite make out her form in the darkness. With trembling fingers, Debbie reached out and pressed her palm to the middle of Lou’s back. Lou didn’t stir, nor did the rhythm of her breathing stutter. She was asleep. Debbie took a deep breath, steeled herself, and then for the first time, she whispered the words aloud. 

“I love you, Lou.” 


	6. Come with Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At night, Debbie curled into her. 
> 
> Not at first, not consciously. 
> 
> Yet every morning since Tuesday, Lou had awoken in Debbie’s bed with brown hair in her face and Debbie’s scent all around her. 
> 
> In sleep, there were no petty arguments to keep them apart, no lies, no errors of judgement. Debbie curled into her as if she was seeking protection, and that begged the question: 
> 
> From what? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy :)

“Debs?’

“Mm hmm?” Debbie didn’t even glance up from the 3D model of the Met. She traced the red beam of the laser down yet another paper hallway. 

“I’m in.” 

Debbie dropped the laser. 

**

_ Debbie’s eyes haunted her.  _

_ First, there was Debbie rushing towards her when she was high - out of control, frantic, and then suddenly dead to the world in Lou’s arms. Then there was the next morning with Debbie’s eyes glazed with tears and the sour smell of vomit in the bathroom, which Lou endured because Debbie needed help, and Lou could see that even if Debbie couldn’t. After that, Debbie’s eyes went cold and distant, yet Lou saw her stubbornness and her brilliance shining through. When it came down to it, she couldn’t love Debbie without loving her flaws, her mistakes, her hubris.  _

_ And Lou  _ did  _ love her.  _

_ Lou watched her move through the loft. Watched her count steps in her head, gazing down into the paper model of the Met for hours at a time, over and over again. Lou watched her sort through pages and pages of notes, always returning to that original list with “Be FF” scrawled at the top. Debbie’s fingers would linger on the words when she didn’t think Lou was looking.  _

_ And at night, Debbie curled into her. Not at first, not consciously. Yet every morning since Tuesday, Lou had awoken in Debbie’s bed with brown hair in her face and Debbie’s scent all around her. In sleep, there were no petty arguments to keep them apart, no lies, no errors of judgement. Debbie curled into her as if she was seeking protection, and that begged the question:  _

From what? __

_ The scar on her torso, the hints Debbie dropped about Claude...Lou hoped that her imagination was simply overreacting to her lack of information, but the fact remained that Debbie had never sought protection before. By Friday, Lou found that her anger with Debbie had fizzled to coals. And yet, there was a new fire under her skin.  _

_ He hurt her. That’s what Debbie had said. And God, shouldn’t that -  _ just  _ that _ \-  _ have been enough for her? He  _ hurt  _ Debbie, hurt her spirit, if not her body. He had caused enough pain that Debbie couldn’t talk about it, not even to Lou. And oh, Lou knew what that was like. She had spent the better part of three years blaming herself for Debbie’s imprisonment, drowning in alcohol and drugs. Tammy hadn’t asked for an explanation when she found her - hadn’t asked about the drugs or the women, none of whom looked like Debbie. Tammy had simply given Lou an opportunity to move on, to get the club she always wanted. She had been kind.  _

_ It was Lou’s turn now. She looked at Debbie across the room, bent once more over the paper model of the Met. Lou walked towards her.  _

**

She watched the laser crush the paper wall of the Egyptian wing. Debbie’s eyes were wide as she turned to face her. 

“I’m in, Debs,” Lou said again, in response to the blank shock on Debbie’s face. “I’m back.”

In any other context, Lou might have teased Debbie for the expression on her face. Her mouth was slightly open, her hands - usually so purposeful - hung loosely at her sides. Lou waited, kept her expression serious and her gaze trained on Debbie’s face. 

At last, Debbie swallowed. “How?” she asked. 

Lou smirked now, let the tension fall from her muscles. She shrugged. “I guess I just want my fair share of the cut.” 

Debbie didn’t fall for it. She shook her head. “I’m serious, Lou. How can you--?” 

“He hurt you,” Lou said. She took a step towards Debbie. “That’s all I need to know.” 

“But you said…” 

“I know what I said, but I  _ do  _ trust you, Debs. Or at least, if I don’t trust you, I don’t trust anyone.” She closed the distance between them and took Debbie’s right hand in both of her own. “And after this is over, well...I believed you when you said you’d tell me. And I’ll come clean, too. I’ll keep that promise.” 

Debbie stared at her and then glanced down at their entwined fingers. “Lou, I’m…” 

Lou moved one hand to Debbie’s jaw and tilted it upwards until she was looking at Lou again, the apology frozen on her lips. “No more of that,” Lou muttered. She leaned forward and paused, eyes finding Debbie’s gaze. Debbie’s eyes dropped to Lou’s lips and then back again. A noise - something between frustration and need - escaped unbidden from Lou’s throat, and then she kissed her. Her fingers threaded into Debbie’s hair and tugged. A whining gasp vibrated against Lou’s mouth, and she swallowed the sound, running one hand down Debbie’s back to fist the fabric of her shirt. Debbie didn’t seem to know what to do with her hands at first, but after a moment she relaxed against Lou and wrapped her arms around her neck. Lou drank her in as if the fight on the beach and the drugs had never happened, as if Claude had never happened, as if she had never left in the first place. After some time, the tempo slowed. Lou nibbled Debbie’s lip and pulled away just enough to press their foreheads together. Their breaths mingled. 

“Come on, honey,” she said breathlessly, cupping Debbie’s cheek. “We have a job to do.” 

**

It was quiet in the exhibit hall now. Lou wondered how long she would have to wait for the all-clear, for the moment when the guests were allowed back up the stairs into the museum and she could disappear into the crowd. Yen sat next to her, like a statue. It was uncanny how still he could be, how in-control of even the tiniest movement of his body. Lou fidgeted, picked at her cuticles. This dark corner had only one exit. If someone else  _ did  _ come into the exhibit hall, if someone  _ actually  _ searched it…

“Um...no one told me how bad it would  _ smell _ in here,” came Constance’s voice through her earpiece, interrupting Lou’s moment of fear. Lou was grateful. “Like, seriously, are all men’s bathrooms this bad?” 

“Yes.” Nine Ball’s reply, brief and to the point, brokered no arguments. 

“Shh,” Amita hissed. “Fuck, this glue really needs to be stored at a warmer temperature.”

“Stick it down your pants for a few minutes,” Constance suggested. 

“Jesus…” Debbie muttered. Lou grinned at the sound of her voice, no matter how exasperated. 

“What?” Constance said defensively. “It’s like thirty degrees warmer down there.” 

“I got it, I got it,” Amita hissed back. “Shut up.” 

For a moment there was silence but for the background chatter on Debbie’s end as she reached the back of the crowd leaving the museum. Lou heard her say a few words in German and wondered if Heidi Klum was nearby once more. 

“Okay, shit’s blowin’ up,” Nine Ball said a minute later. Lou sat up straighter, and pressed the earpiece into her ear so she didn’t miss a word. “Police comin’, Cartier comin’, bunch of news people’s comin’.” 

“Yeah,” Tammy muttered, “Yeah, they’re doing it - about halfway through.” 

Lou settled back against the wall. If they were only halfway through, she and Yen had at least fifteen more minutes to wait, probably twenty. If she wanted, she could probably catch a quick nap. But then…

“Amita, there’s a guy in the kitchen.” Nine Ball’s tone was steady and calm, but Lou sat bolt upright. Yen looked at her, concerned. She motioned at him to stand by. 

“Just give it a few more minutes,” Amita said. 

“We don’t have a few minutes!” Debbie said. Lou heard the click of a door and then the background noise around Debbie became muffled. She must have found somewhere to hide.

“Oh, shit,” Nine whispered. Lou closed her eyes. “He’s  _ right  _ there.” 

“Tammy, how close?” Debbie asked. “Where are you now?” 

“By the moat.” Lou could hear Tammy walking evenly, not breaking stride. 

“Tammy, pull it out of the water!” Debbie sounded frantic. 

Lou’s heart raced. She didn’t like hearing her like that. If the guard found Amita, her connection to the Oceans would certainly buy Debbie some jail time, and Amita herself could be facing much worse with an armed ex-assassin mere feet from her. Lou felt sick. She heard a sharp intake of breath from Tammy. 

“Just plant it in the water!” Debbie reiterated. 

Lou wondered why it was taking Tammy so long to obey. What was wrong with her? Tammy had never been one to hesitate. Had Debbie’s flirting gotten to her? Lou would have something to say to both of them if it had,  _ if  _ any of them made it out of this mess. 

“Just pull it out, right now!” There was true panic in Debbie’s hoarse whisper, and Lou fought the urge to leave her hiding place, to find her, to  _ save  _ her. 

“Do it, Tammy!” Lou hissed. 

“Found it! It was in the water,” Tammy called. 

Lou sat back against the wall, heart still threatening to jump out of her chest. Sighs of relief from Amita, Constance, and Nine Ball faded to white noise. Lou remembered a time when she lived for risks like this, and sure, she probably enjoyed adrenaline more than most people. Years ago, it had felt like all she was risking was her own record. No big deal, just a thrill. Now though, there were words on the tip of her tongue that she had yet to say, words that  _ meant  _ something, words that Debbie Ocean needed to hear. Risking the opportunity to say those words...well, that hit differently, like ice instead of fire in her blood. 

“All clear, Ocean,” Nine Ball said, bringing Lou back to reality. She heard Debbie open a door and slip into a chattering crowd. Yen was still looking at her curiously, but she shook her head. She would fill him in later. For now, there was work to be done. “Constance, you good,” Nine said a few seconds later, and Lou stood up and stretched. In exactly sixty-three seconds, there would be enough people in the hallway outside the exhibit to slip into the crowd. She helped Yen get situated inside the catering cart and closed the door behind him before taking a deep breath.  _ Almost there _ , she thought.  _ We’re almost there _ . 

**

Strictly speaking, Lou didn’t need evening attire for the Gala. Tammy had provided the chef’s uniform, and Lou had planned to change back into her own plain black clothes after taking care of the jewels so as not to attract attention when she picked Debbie up from the corner of 80th Street and 5th Avenue. But then she saw the jumpsuit. 

Lou often bought clothes on consignment, stealing smaller items from showrooms as the opportunity arose - a scarf here, a bracelet there. It was difficult, though not impossible, to steal a three-piece suit right under the designer’s nose. Most of the time, it wasn’t worth the risk. Consignment stores offered an easy con without the risk of an international security team. The green sequins in the window caught Lou’s eye on her way back to the loft after purchasing the toy submarines for herself and Yen. She stopped and stared, almost dropping the bags she was holding. It looked perfect, and when she tried it on in a dressing room five minutes later, it  _ was  _ perfect. The material hung heavy on her shoulders, outlining her chest in fur. As she took off the piece, Lou checked every inch of it for a label - nothing. She ran her fingers over the inside, searching for even the edge of a torn-away tag. Finally, she felt a few loose strings under her fingertips. Looking closer, she recognized the thread. Armani.  _ Definitely _ , Armani. A flamboyant-as-they-come Armani jumpsuit, just waiting for her in a consignment store in Queens, two days before the Met Gala. 

Lou shrugged; she had never been someone to be held up by coincidence. She paid real money for the jumpsuit and matching boots and accepted an opaque garment bag from the gray-haired woman at the cash register. Really, it was a steal anyway, she thought. Without the label, the store couldn’t sell it for more than a hundred dollars. With the label...well, it probably wouldn’t have ended up on consignment in Queens.

Now, pulling on the jumpsuit in the back of the catering van, doing up the buttons, checking the drape of the neckline, Lou knew she had chosen well. The outfit felt like her almost more than her leathers did. More than anything, she wanted to match Debbie. It didn’t feel right to whisk Debbie away in her gown and Louboutins while wearing her own old clothes. And Lou liked catching Debbie off guard, liked it more than anything. Lou checked her makeup in the rearview mirror and carefully draped the necklace from Amita around her neck. The jewels hung heavy between her breasts, grazing her flesh and making Lou shiver. Perfect.

Lou slipped a leather jacket and pants over the jumpsuit. As she left the van, she slung her small backpack around her shoulders and secured her helmet. Her bike was nearby, shining in the fluorescent glow of the parking garage lights. It was a fifteen minute ride back to the Met, but Lou barely felt the miles. Her thoughts were on Debbie. Debbie, whose plan had worked. Debbie, who had suffered and struggled to even make it to today. Debbie, who still held so many secrets. Debbie, who was waiting for the final pieces to fall into place, watching Claude’s downfall. Too close for comfort. Lou pushed the bike a little faster and changed lanes to turn onto 5th Avenue. 

She parked in a hotel parking garage a few blocks from the Met and stored her leathers in the small seat compartment. Her mind was on Yen. He would have arrived at the loft by now with the jewels and was probably most of the way through storing them in the extra refrigerator. Lou smirked to herself as she approached the museum and slipped into the well-dressed crowd. It was easy to disappear here as the guests filed out into the street, sliding into limos and heading to after-parties. She wanted an after-party of their own, wanted to revel in their shared adrenaline. How many times had she and Debbie collided after a job well done? Lou  _ ached  _ for her. And yet, that glazed look in Debbie’s eyes…

But then she reached the corner by the food truck and turned towards the crosswalk. Debbie was waiting for her, and there was no fog in her expression, no hazy uncertainty. Her eyes met Lou’s, and the corners of her mouth twitched into a gentle smile. Lou snapped her gum and smirked, fingering the jewels that hung against her chest. She walked slowly despite the urge to run, to fling herself into Debbie’s arms. Debbie looked half-amused, half-triumphant as she half-turned to walk along 5th Avenue. Lou maintained a steady pace and slid into step beside her, matching her strides. 

“Everything set?” Debbie asked. Lou caught the faintest tremor of excitement in her tone.

“Of course. Smooth on your end?” 

“Mm hmm,” Debbie replied. Lou saw her flex her left hand a few times and narrowed her eyes. 

“And the final piece,” Lou pressed on, “it’s...taken care of?” 

Debbie glanced sideways at her. “Why do you ask?” Her eyes danced teasingly. 

All at once, Lou understood. Fear rose in her chest. “Tell me you didn’t…” she muttered. 

“I…” 

“Shut  _ up _ , Debbie.” Lou grabbed her arm and pulled her into an alleyway between two buildings. Debbie stumbled once in her too-tall heels, but Lou didn’t pause, flung her against the brick wall just hard enough for it to get her attention. Her fingers dug into Debbie’s shoulders. 

Debbie’s eyes were still teasing, laughing. 

“What the  _ fuck  _ were you thinking?” Lou hissed. It was everything she could do not to yell. “Constance was supposed to plant the jewels.  _ Constance _ . Not you, Deborah. How…?” 

Debbie tilted her head every so slightly, her lip curling once more. 

“ _ Fuck _ , I’m stupid,” Lou whispered. She loosened her grip just a little. “It was always going to be you, wasn’t it?” 

“Well, I…” 

“Cut the bullshit.” Lou dropped her hands and stepped back. Debbie straightened up but didn’t move away from the wall. 

“I knew you’d try to stop me,” Debbie said in a matter-of-fact tone. 

“Damn right.” 

“Lou, I  _ had  _ t--” 

“No,” Lou interrupted flatly. “No, Debs. You didn’t have to. I agreed to taking him down. I came  _ back _ , but this...this…” She put her head in her hands. 

“Lou…” Debbie’s voice was almost pleading now. Lou shook her head, and Debbie fell silent. There were red spots behind Lou’s eyelids, and her head ached. The whiplash between love and anger in regards to Debbie was becoming tiresome. 

“Did he see you?” Lou asked quietly after almost a minute of tense silence in which the only noises in the alley came from the cars rumbling by on 5th Avenue a dozen steps away. 

“Not exactly.” 

Lou dropped her hands, shaking her head. “Don’t do this, Debs. Don’t do this. Not to me. Not this time.” 

“He didn’t recognize me, Lou. I’m sure of it,” Debbie insisted. At least her tone was more sincere now. “Besides, he’s going to find out I was there anyway. You know I was on camera the whole time, baby.” Lou flinched at the pet name. “Even when I planted them, I checked the angles. It will just look like I bumped into him, I promise.” 

“Oh, and you don’t think his lawyer will use that? It’s still you and him together, Debbie. You and him…” Lou’s voice broke. 

“Lou, I’m--” 

“Don’t you  _ fucking  _ apologize to me, Debbie. You knew what you were doing. You knew the risks. Do you know how fucking scared I was when that guard almost found Amita?” 

Debbie shook her head, cowering slightly as Lou’s voice rose. 

“I was terrified. I...I thought about how nothing -  _ nothing  _ \- was worth us getting caught.” Lou took a step back towards her, needed her to hear every word, to see every tear. “Nothing was worth going to prison. Nothing was worth losing you again, Debbie. And you...you don’t give a shit about the future, do you? As long as he’s behind bars, it doesn’t matter if you are, too, or the rest of us. It doesn’t matter if...if I…” Lou couldn’t say the words, not like this. She was close to her now, close enough to lean forward and press her forehead against the rough wall of the building behind Debbie. She could hear Debbie’s quickened breaths mixing with her own. Silence fell once more. 

“It does matter,” Debbie muttered, so quietly that Lou almost didn’t hear her. 

“What?” 

“It  _ does  _ matter. I told you I’m not going back to prison. You have  _ no  _ idea what it’s like in there, baby, and I want to keep it that way. For you, for Tammy, for Amita - you’re the only people I trust in the whole world ever since... Anyway, it  _ does  _ matter. None of us are going to get caught! I told you, I’ve run this thing a thousand times. And the future…” Debbie sighed, and Lou pulled herself back to look at her. Debbie was as tall as she was tonight, Louboutins more than accounting for the height of Lou’s boots plus the inches Lou had on her normally. “We can have any future you want, baby. Anything. I…” Debbie bit her lip, and Lou willed her to just  _ say  _ it. “I’m your girl, Lou,” Debbie finished. 

Lou stared at her. It wasn’t what she had expected. But then, Debbie had never been one for predictability. Lou swallowed hard and looked away for a second, out towards the street. She hated the idea of Debbie in danger, hated the idea that Debbie had been close enough to touch him, that Debbie  _ had  _ touched him. Lou closed her eyes. 

“I don’t like it,” Lou said finally. 

“That’s okay, baby,” Debbie replied in a defeated tone. “I--” 

“But I’m your girl too, Debbie,” Lou interrupted her and turned towards her once more. Debbie’s eyes widened. 

“What?” 

Lou leaned forward, brought her lips to Debbie’s jaw. “I’m  _ yours _ , Jailbird,” she murmured. 

“Lou…” 

“Shut the  _ fuck  _ up,” Lou muttered. And then she kissed her, all teeth at first, almost biting her chin. Lou sucked on her lip and grazed her teeth none too gently over her skin. Debbie whimpered, and Lou took the opportunity to plunge her tongue into her mouth, tasting champagne and a hint of blood from Debbie's lip. Lou pressed her body against her, felt Debbie melt against the brick wall. Her right hand tangled in Debbie’s wig as her left dropped to her leg, caressing her thigh through the fabric of her dress. She dug her fingers deep into Debbie’s wig, tugging, and Debbie whimpered again, gasping against Lou’s lips. Lou indulged her need to breathe and kissed down Debbie’s neck to nip and suck a mark into the top of her shoulder. Debbie’s breaths came short and desperate in Lou’s ear. Her hands scrabbled at the sequins on Lou’s back, pulled her impossibly closer. Lou drove her thigh between Debbie’s legs, felt her hips cant forward in search of friction, of  _ more _ …Lou’s mouth found Debbie’s once more, and she kissed her more gently this time, allowed the heat to smolder between them even as Debbie’s hips worked an erratic rhythm on Lou’s thigh. She couldn’t have her like this, not up against a wall, not with far too many layers of clothing between them, not after more than ten years. 

“I’m taking you home,” Lou murmured against Debbie’s cheek. Debbie gave a shaky sigh and blinked her eyes open to meet Lou’s gaze. 

“Please.”

**

Lou didn’t remember much about the drive back to the loft besides Debbie’s hands gripping her waist, Debbie’s warmth plastered against her back. She unlocked the door hastily as Debbie’s heels crunched in the gravel behind her. On the threshold was the spare key she had leant to Yen, who had pushed it through the mail slot when he left. The jewels were stored, then. The job was done. Well, not  _ quite  _ done, but the rest of it could wait until morning. Debbie closed the door behind them both and turned the lock. Lou swept her bangs away from her eyes and gazed at her as she removed her wig, long brown hair cascading over her shoulders as each pin came undone. 

“You look incredible, by the way,” Debbie said through a smirk as she set a handful of bobby pins on the kitchen island. 

“What? Oh!” Lou tore her eyes away from her and looked down at the jumpsuit. “Yeah, I thought you’d like it.” 

Debbie’s eyes traced over her, just as they had as she crossed 5th Avenue. “It’s very you,” she concluded. 

“It’s Armani,” Lou told her. 

“You stole it?” Debbie took a step towards her.

“Depends how you look at it. It was $100 on consignment.” 

“Hm, thought you might have raided Bowie’s estate sale.” Another step; Lou could almost touch her now. 

“I would never disrespect the greats like that,” Lou said in a low voice. Her mind was only half-invested in the conversation. 

“Hm. Wouldn’t you?” Debbie stepped right into her space, gaze darting between Lou’s eyes and her lips. “Not even for me?” Debbie hooked a finger into the plunging neckline of the jumpsuit and tugged. Lou followed, hovered her lips over Debbie’s. 

“For you, I’d steal the stars,” she whispered. 

Debbie scoffed. “Cheesy. But I wouldn’t say no.” 

“I’m still angry with you,” Lou murmured, running one hand up Debbie’s back, enjoying the contrasting textures of her skin and her dress. 

“I know.”

The world condensed into Debbie’s lips on hers, Debbie’s hands running over her chest, slipping under the top of the jumpsuit to settle warm against her ribs. Debbie was trembling, or maybe they both were. Her head spun, and she felt her knees wobble. She couldn’t hold both of them up. She cradled Debbie’s face in her hands and broke the kiss. Debbie made a soft noise of frustration, searching for Lou’s lips once more. 

“Upstairs,” Lou rasped, finding that her voice wasn’t working properly. 

Debbie nodded, kept close to Lou on the staircase and along the hallway. Lou’s heart raced; her fingertips tingled. Emotion built in her chest - frustration, triumph, lust. She dragged Debbie by the hand over the threshold of her room and spun around to pin her against the door as it swung shut behind them. 

“You’re not in charge anymore,” she hissed in Debbie’s ear. “Not here. Do you understand? No more lies.” 

Somewhat to Lou’s surprise given the venom in her tone, Debbie smiled softly, reached up and cupped her cheek. “Yeah, baby, I’m yours.” 

“Mine,” Lou growled, latching her lips to Debbie’s neck. She licked her way down to the new mark on Debbie’s shoulder, already blooming red and purple. Lou nibbled around it, felt a thrill of satisfaction as Debbie swooned against her. “Let’s get you on the bed, honey,” she said as Debbie quivered again. 

Debbie clung to the sequined fabric of Lou’s jumpsuit as Lou guided her to the bed. Once she was settled upon it, Lou stepped back, gazing down at Debbie spread out before her, whose dark eyes were glowing as brightly as the gold embroidery on her dress. 

“Beautiful,” Lou murmured. She didn’t take her eyes off her as she slowly undid the buttons on the front of the jumpsuit, loosening the bodice until she could slide her arms free to bare her chest. She heard a sigh from Debbie and focused on her parted lips. The fabric of the jumpsuit hung heavy around her hips. She paused. 

With a noise of frustration, Debbie pulled herself to her knees, heels catching on the bedspread. She reached for Lou’s hips, and as much as Lou wanted to maintain her authority tonight, she felt her control slipping as Debbie’s warm fingers began to push the fabric down her legs. Debbie looked up at her and pressed a slow, wet kiss to the soft skin just below Lou’s sternum. Her breath hitched, and one hand came up to tangle in Debbie’s hair. The other fumbled for the zipper on the side of Debbie’s gown. Lou stepped out of her shoes and let the jumpsuit fall to the ground. She had foregone underwear when she had changed clothes, a symbol of her wishes for the evening. Lou tugged at Debbie’s loosened dress, even as Debbie charted a course down Lou’s stomach with her lips and tongue, fingers digging into Lou’s hips hard enough to bruise. Somehow, Debbie managed to slip her upper body free of the dress, and Lou tugged on the tight silk slip that still covered most of her skin. 

“Get this off,” she said. 

Debbie obeyed at once, kissed her way back up Lou’s chest to her mouth as her fingers worked swiftly to remove her final layers of clothing. Lou heard two clunks as her shoes dropped onto the floor, and then Debbie pressed close to her, naked flesh against Lou at last. Lou broke their kiss with a gasp. 

“Lie down,” she murmured, nudging Debbie further back on the bed. At last, Lou knelt between her thighs. The scar under Debbie’s left breast drew her attention, but Lou ignored the urge to stare at it. Now was not the time for that conversation. Lou shifted to straddle one of Debbie’s thighs and dipped her head to Debbie’s breast, brushing her lips across Debbie’s nipple. 

“Fuck,” Debbie hissed. Her fingers found Lou’s head, pressing her closer. Her sensitivity drove Lou wild. There was a buzzing in her ears that drowned out everything but the noises coaxed from Debbie’s lips. Lou passed her hand up the inside of Debbie’s thigh, pushing gently. Debbie spread her legs wider, and as Lou’s palm slid over damp curls, her own groan vibrated over Debbie’s skin. 

“So wet for me,” Lou murmured as she switched her attention to Debbie’s opposite breast and slipped a finger inside her. Debbie bucked her hips and threw her head back in a primal cry. Lou understood, felt the same need running hot in her own veins.

_ Ten years _ . She thrust into her slowly - once, twice - before adding a second finger and picking up her pace. Debbie’s hips strained towards her.  _ Ten  _ fucking  _ years.  _ She licked her way up Debbie’s throat, biting at her pulse point until her skin was a second from breaking, then finding her mouth once more to drink in her cries.  _ Ten years, two months, and three days _ . Lou felt Debbie open wider, felt her inner muscles tremble. She was vaguely aware of her own wetness coating Debbie’s thigh, of pressure coiling deep inside her. Lou curled her fingers and pressed her palm against her. Debbie arched off the bed, breaking the kiss with a strangled moan. She pulsed around Lou’s fingers. Lou didn’t stop. Instead she pushed forward, slipped another finger inside her, and ground herself against Debbie’s thigh. Debbie only relaxed for a second before she convulsed once more, and this time Lou fell over the edge with her, trembling with her face buried in Debbie’s neck. 

**

Debbie curled into her again that night, but this time it was different. Perhaps it was just the heady aftermath of the heist, or the lack of clothing. Perhaps it was the way Debbie pulled Lou’s arm around herself, unashamed. Lou found that her anger had ebbed away. Debbie was here, Debbie was safe, and breeze off the bay smelled like sex and three-hundred million dollars in diamonds. 

“You did well, Jailbird,” Lou murmured. 

“Mm.” Debbie hummed and turned over in Lou’s arms, nuzzling her nose under Lou’s chin. “Lou, I…” 

Lou closed her eyes, waited. She stroked Debbie’s hair. 

“Thanks for coming back, baby,” Debbie said at last.

Lou kissed her forehead and tried not to be disappointed. If she couldn’t say the words, how could she expect Debbie to say them? “Sweet dreams, honey,” Lou whispered. 

In the morning she would wake to Debbie in her arms, and she wouldn’t hold back then. She would tell her all the truths that gnawed at her insides. She would tell her what she wanted, all the snapshot-glimpses of the future -  _ their  _ future - that Lou cherished more than anything. She would tell her she loved her. 

**

Lou, unlike Debbie, didn’t plan for all contingencies, didn’t plot a course for each and every turn of events. Waking to an empty bed, for instance, was not part of her plan for confessing her love to Debbie Ocean. And yet... 

The next morning, Lou awoke alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays, everybody! This chapter is a wild ride, so thank you for sticking with me. They really are getting there, I promise.


	7. If I Stumble...If I Fall...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning passed swiftly, but as noon approached, Debbie found her mind wandering. 
> 
> How would you feel if you woke up alone this morning? she asked herself, knowing the answer. 
> 
> She remembered how she felt the morning after Lou had left all those years ago. Empty. Blank. As if she were nothing and the world was even less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm posting a little later than normal! I fell asleep while editing last night, so I had to finish that this morning. I hope you enjoy!

Debbie was relieved to discover that some things about Brooklyn never changed. The bagels, at least, were still the same. As she trudged back to the loft with a large brown paper bag, her mouth watered at the aroma drifting up towards her. The smell made her giddy, or maybe the giddiness was leftover from waking up in Lou’s embrace, skin to skin and pleasantly sore from the night before. There were still plenty of loose ends - with Lou, with the job - but she could face them now. 

The bright sun reflected off the bay as Debbie approached the loft, and she was unsurprised to see Tammy’s minivan parked beside Lou’s Toyota. The fencing was only just beginning, after all. Besides, Tammy wouldn’t bother her and Lou. She respected their space, which Debbie appreciated today more than ever. She opened the door to the loft with some difficulty while balancing the bag from the deli and kicked off her shoes. Tammy was in the kitchen, shoveling coffee grounds into the top of the pot. She looked over her shoulder as Debbie came in.

“I wondered where you--Jesus  _ Christ _ , what did Lou do to you?” Tammy put the bag of coffee back on the counter and strode around the kitchen island to take the bag from Debbie. 

“What?” 

“Your  _ neck _ , Deb.” Tammy reached towards her, and for the first time Debbie remembered just how high Lou’s lips and teeth had reached last night. 

“Oh, uh…” She blushed. Tammy ran a fingertip over the spot, and Debbie had to admit that it twinged. 

“Everything back to normal between you two, then?” Tammy said through a grin. 

Debbie shrugged. “Not sure we’ve ever been normal.” She reached for the bagels. “But I thought maybe she and I could talk things out over breakfast, and then…” She trailed off. 

Tammy returned to the coffee maker and snapped the lid closed before pressing the button. Debbie tried to decide how much to tell her. 

“There are some things I need to say to her,” she finished at last as Tammy turned to lean on the kitchen island across from her with a serious expression on her face. 

“I’m sure there are,” Tammy said. “But you’ll have to wait until later. Lou’s already gone. I passed her on my way in. She seemed…” Tammy frowned. “Deb, did you tell her where you were going this morning?” 

Debbie shook her head and reached for a bagel and a carton of cream cheese. Of course, Lou was already hard at work. It was mildly disappointing, but nothing she couldn’t handle. Their conversation had waited almost twenty years; they could make it another few hours. 

Tammy sighed. “She wasn’t happy, Deb.” 

“What do you mean?” Debbie asked around a mouthful of bagel, taken aback by Tammy’s dark tone. 

“Look, did you sleep together? Like, I mean  _ actually  _ sleep?” Tammy asked. 

“Yeah, of course,” Debbie replied, nonplussed. 

Tammy shook her head. “You’re hopeless, Ocean.” 

“What?” Debbie swallowed her bite of bagel and wiped her mouth with a napkin.

“How would you feel if you woke up alone this morning, Deborah? For God’s sake, you couldn’t even wait for her to wake up? You couldn’t leave a  _ note _ ? I know you’ve always been ruled by your stomach, but--”

“It was for  _ her _ , Tammy. I don’t see what the problem is with bringing my...my....” She swallowed. “With bringing  _ Lou _ breakfast. God knows, she deserves better than me, and the  _ least  _ I can do is bring her a fucking bagel!” Debbie huffed a sigh through her nose and pressed her palm to her forehead. 

Tammy was silent. 

“I always get it wrong, Tammy,” Debbie continued after a moment, quietly now. “Always. I’m not…There’s a reason I work with her, you know?” Debbie could hear the emotion building in her voice, but she couldn’t stop it, didn’t care anymore if Tammy saw how much she cared. “Beyond the fact that she’s the  _ only  _ person I have  _ ever  _ loved, beyond everything we’ve been through, she’s just so goddamn good with  _ people _ .” Debbie sniffed and wiped her nose with her napkin. Her eyes were burning, and she blinked rapidly, but the tears fell anyway. 

Tammy reached across the countertop and took her hand. “Rewind a second and say that again,” she said. 

“She’s so  _ good _ , Tim-Tam, I--”

“No, the part before that.” 

“She... _ fuck _ .” Debbie realized what she had said. She had barely said it even to herself, and now she had said the words to Tammy before saying them to Lou. Well, there was no going back now. She took a deep breath and squeezed Tammy’s hand. “I  _ love _ her, Tammy. I’ve  _ always  _ loved her, and I was going to tell her.” 

Tammy was quiet, but her thumb swept back and forth across Debbie’s knuckles. Debbie’s tears had subsided; saying the words had brought everything to a standstill. The coffee pot stopped gurgling and hissing with a click, and Tammy patted Debbie’s hand before turning to take down two mugs from the cupboard. Debbie watched the steam curl up from the pot as Tammy poured coffee. The aroma grounded her. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. 

“I always figured you had told each other years ago,” Tammy said, breaking the silence as she handed Debbie her cup. She came around the counter and slid into the stool next to Debbie’s. 

Debbie smiled nostalgically. “No, we were too stupid.” 

“Still too stupid.” 

“Yeah.” Debbie sipped her coffee. It was strong and smooth, just how she liked it. “I’m done being stupid.” 

“You should text her,” Tammy said. “Make sure she knows you didn’t leave this morning.” 

Debbie grimaced. “I don’t  _ like  _ texting.” 

“Text your girlfriend, Deb. ” 

“Fine, but she’s not my girlfriend.” 

“No, you’re right,” Tammy said sarcastically. “You’ve been together for twenty years. She’s practically your  _ wife _ .” 

With a roll of her eyes, Debbie pulled out her phone and brought up Lou’s contact information. They had exchanged fewer than a dozen messages since March. After all, they had spent barely any time apart since the start of Debbie’s parole.  _ Hey _ , she wrote.  _ Got bagels but u had alrdy left. Dinner tonight?  _ She hesitated, glanced sideways at Tammy who was eying her over the rim of her coffee cup. 

“You know, for how smart you are, you really need a lot of help with this shit,” Tammy said. She reached for Debbie’s phone. 

“Yeah, well, who’s surprised? Does that look okay?”

Tammy nodded. “Maybe add a heart emoticon or something?” 

“Isn’t that too forward?” 

“You know what? Just send it,” Tammy said, sliding the phone back towards Debbie with an exasperated sigh. 

“I just…” Debbie began defensively. 

“Send it.” Tammy reached over and tapped the “send” button. Debbie exhaled. 

She slowly ate the rest of her bagel with cream cheese and drank her coffee. Lou would already be meeting with Daphne by now, explaining the situation and warning her of John Frasier’s imminent arrival. She might not have time to look at her text messages. Even given this logic, Debbie glanced at the screen every few seconds until Tammy reached for it once more. Debbie pulled the phone out of her reach, and then sighed, realizing how preoccupied she was by the prospect of Lou texting back, or worse, of Lou  _ not  _ texting back. 

“Tell you what,” Tammy said. “Let’s get some work done. It’ll take your mind off things.” 

Debbie was grateful, though she decided not to delve too deeply into why she suddenly needed an extra person to tell her how to distract herself. Usually, she had no problem detaching while a job was involved. After she finished her breakfast, Debbie followed Tammy into the bathroom off the kitchen, which had become a strategy room during the heist. Debbie liked it in here; it was the only room in the loft that was completely her own.

“Okay,” Tammy said, grabbing a pad of paper from the shelf next to the door. “What sort of timeline do we have to work with?” 

The morning passed swiftly, but as noon approached, Debbie found her mind wandering. Lou still hadn’t replied. She remembered what Tammy had said:  _ How would you feel if you woke up alone this morning?  _ Debbie knew the answer to that question, remembered how she felt the morning after Lou had left all those years ago. Empty. Blank. As if she were nothing and the world was even less. That parting had been undramatic, a mutual understanding, amicable. It wasn’t a break-up - they had never talked about what  _ they  _ were, so there was nothing to break. Debbie smiled ruefully at that thought.  _ Nothing to break _ . 

Except part of her  _ had  _ broken that day. The hurt had been buried under years of excuses, of self-loathing, of survival-mode gone wrong. And where had that led her? 

**

_ “So, go home. Get your affairs in order, because tomorrow, we start pulling off the biggest jewelry heist in history.”  _

_ The screen went blank as Debbie finished. She looked over at Lou, watched the glow of her lighter flicker in the dim room as she clicked it against her finger. It was easy to get lost in her eyes, and Debbie wanted nothing more than to pull her away from all of them. She felt a heady sense of power over the room, felt like herself again, and she wanted Lou to share in that. The fire in her blood was reflected in Lou’s eyes, and Debbie could have taken her right there in front of  _ everyone _ , but then… _

_ “Are you actually fucking serious right now?” Constance sounded as if she were on the verge of tears. Lou grinned and glanced towards the room, away from Debbie, and the spell was broken. Everyone began talking at once.  _

_ “Oceans are always serious, Constance,” Lou called over the clamor.  _

_ Constance sat back in her chair looking stunned.  _

_ Debbie’s eyes flicked to Amita, who was consoling Rose. Rose, in turn, seemed to be in utter shock with a hand pressed against her heaving chest. Tammy was watching Constance and Nine Ball with a curious expression, perhaps remembering herself at that age - young and smart and focused on nothing but the next take. Debbie smiled nostalgically. She was projecting. Who knew what Tammy was really thinking, but Constance and Nine Ball reminded Debbie of the young Lou Miller, and - though she wouldn’t have admitted it when she first met Nine Ball - the young Deborah Ocean. One of them energetic, eccentric, and quick-fingered; the other aloof, brilliant, and the queen of her own world. The way Nine Ball looked at her laptop, well, that was exactly how Debbie looked at a blueprint. Debbie felt a wave of remorse. What wouldn’t she give to go back ten years and choose to be satisfied with what she had?  _

_ Lou always was. Lou never tried to punch above her weight. She pushed herself, sure. She took risks. But Debbie was reckless, and she became more reckless as Danny’s schemes spiraled higher and higher. Lou got herself out. Debbie didn’t.  _

_ Debbie went to prison.  _

_ And now, Lou had built an entire life without her - friends, a real job, a  _ home _. Debbie had never had that, and  _ Deborah Ocean  _ didn’t fit into those conventions.  _

_ Debbie walked away from the group, unnoticed, except perhaps by Tammy who was looking at her with shining eyes. Debbie winked at her, satisfied when Tammy blushed. At least she wasn’t completely powerless. Her heels made sharp noises on each metal stair, and she half expected Lou to call her back down, but the chatter behind her only grew louder and at the top of the staircase, Debbie glanced down to see Lou passing out bottles of beer with an arm slung around Amita’s shoulders. _

_ Debbie gritted her teeth and slid silently into her bedroom. She hadn’t slept in it even once so far, preferring to crawl in with Lou even though she wanted so much  _ more  _ than Lou’s warmth. The bed was neatly made and the windows looked out over the empty lot next door to the loft, floral-patterned curtains flapping a little as Debbie shut the door behind her.  _

_ Under the bed was a bag and inside the bag was a box containing a vial, a syringe, a spoon, an old-fashioned lighter, and a bag of white powder. Debbie had carefully gathered the items on her first day of freedom. It was important that the details were correct - Sherlock Holmes’s ritual was very specific. Debbie had done her own research too. She knew what to do. She mixed the seven-percent solution, and set the hot spoon aside. The plunger of the syringe pulled back easily, leaving no trace of air bubbles. She smiled grimly.  _

_ Downstairs, the others were still chattering, and Lou’s laughter rose above the clamor. Debbie found her vein and thrust the sharp point home.  _

__

**

“Deb?” 

“Hm?” 

“Deb, are you listening to me at  _ all _ ?”

“Wha...oh, uh…” Debbie ran a hand across her eyes. “Sorry, I…” 

“Do you actually care who I pick?” Tammy slid over a stack of headshots and resumés, all local actresses over the age of seventy. No one recognizable. Right now, they all looked the same. 

Debbie shook her head. “I trust your judgement.” She spared the pile of papers a final glance before pulling out her phone to check, yet again, for a message from Lou. 

“Just call her if you’re that worried about it,” Tammy said.

“I’m not  _ worried _ ,” Debbie snapped. “You’re the one who said she was upset. I’m trying to be  _ attentive. _ I like Number 4 and Number 6. 12 seems a bit over the top, but I think she could give us what we need. 3 is out for sure. Your choice between 5 and 7. We should have a few backups just in case anyone gets cold feet.” 

Tammy blinked and then glanced down at the resumes. “Right,” she said. “Got it.” 

Debbie put her phone back in her pocket and focused all of her energy on Tammy’s next questions, going over the dates of the auctions, the possible timelines of Claude’s arrest. She was careful to leave out the part about all of the jewels in the extra refrigerator. Tammy’s reaction to that particular surprise, when the time came, would be too good to miss. Another hour dragged by before Tammy suggested lunch, which Debbie heartily agreed to. 

“What do you say to a glass of wine?” Tammy asked. “You deserve to relax.” She pulled a half-drunk bottle of Chardonnay from the bottom rack of the fridge and held it up. 

“Sure,” Debbie agreed with a shrug as she pulled another bagel from the bag on the kitchen island. “Why not?” 

“Do you want something other than bagels?” 

“Why would I want something other than bagels?” 

Tammy rolled her eyes as she went to collect two glasses from the glass-fronted cabinet in the corner. Debbie accepted her glass of wine with a muffled “thank you” around a mouthful of bagel. Tammy clinked their glasses together. 

“Cheers, Deb, you pulled off another good one.” 

Debbie smiled. “There’s still a ways to go…” 

Tammy sipped her wine. “Are you talking about the job or about Lou?” 

“Both.” 

“She loves you,” Tammy said. 

“Really? Did she tell you that?” Debbie couldn’t keep the eagerness out of her tone. 

Tammy shook her head. “No, but…” She sighed. “Do you remember all those years ago on Martha’s Vineyard?” 

Debbie smirked around the rim of her wine glass. “Vividly. Are you looking for a repeat?” she asked, eyebrows raised, remembering her and Tammy and Lou between crisp sheets. 

“No, thank you.” Tammy grinned. “No, it’s just...being that close to you both, it’d be hard not to notice your feelings.” 

Debbie frowned. “But I didn’t love her back then. I didn’t…” 

Tammy tossed her an unimpressed expression. 

“Fine, I did,” Debbie admitted. 

“And she’s always looked at you, like...well, like you were the only one she could see.” 

Debbie took too large of a sip of wine and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “That’s just Lou, though, isn’t it? She’s like that with everyone.” 

“She’s not like  _ that  _ with everyone,” Tammy insisted.

Debbie blushed and dropped her gaze, thinking of being pierced by Lou’s ice blue gaze. She always felt so exposed. “Maybe.” 

“ _ Trust _ me, Deb. She’s loved you for  _ years _ .” 

“Then why did she leave?” Debbie asked in a small voice. She set down the piece of bagel and cream cheese that she had been about to raise to her lips. Reaching for her glass of wine, she noticed that her fingers were trembling slightly. She drained the glass and held it out to Tammy, who took it with a sigh and turned away to refill it. 

“You were there, Deb. You know she needed a break, not from  _ you _ ,” Tammy said before Debbie could protest. “But she needed to run jobs of her own. You cast a big shadow. You Oceans always have.” 

“I didn’t want her to leave.” 

“Did you tell her that?” 

“We never really…” Debbie shook her head. 

“Yeah, and maybe that was the problem.” 

Debbie smiled sadly and nodded. Her head spun a little. The wine was stronger than she expected. She wanted to continue picking Tammy’s brain about how to show Lou her feelings, but just then the door banged open and Constance sped inside on her skateboard, followed closely by Nine Ball and Amita. 

“Debbie, catch!” Constance yelled, and Debbie looked up just in time to notice something shiny fly towards her. She reached up to grab it, but missed, and the object dropped onto her plate with a clatter. Looking down, she saw a diamond bracelet sticking out of her cream cheese. 

“Constance…” Tammy muttered, squeezing the bridge of her nose. 

Debbie picked up the jewels and tossed them back to Constance, who caught them deftly and wiped the cream cheese on a kitchen towel as she sped past. 

“Leave the pieces in the bathroom, okay?” Debbie yelled after her. She picked up the rest of her bagel and shoved it into her mouth, washed it down with the remainder of her glass of wine. She was tipsier than she expected when she got up from the stool. Tammy shot her a wink as she swayed, and Debbie shrugged. Lowering her inhibitions probably wasn’t the worst idea; this way, she might actually have a shot at telling Lou how she felt. 

Well, only if Lou actually showed up. 

Debbie wondered if she had run into trouble with Daphne. But no, Debbie was sure that Daphne would want her share of the cut. She hadn’t won an Oscar since she was sixteen, and she had been nominated four times since then. Her net worth was dropping by the hour. Not for the first time, Debbie thanked whatever wind of fate had placed  _ Daphne Kluger _ as the host of the Met Ball this year. Almost anyone else would have been a risk; Daphne Kluger was an asset. It wouldn’t take much to convince her to join them, and Lou’s charm was certainly up to the task. 

Debbie waited for the wave of jealousy to hit her, but it never came. Interesting. The idea of Lou seducing yet another young woman to join them would normally make her seethe even if the situation was of her own design. But there was just enough alcohol clouding Debbie’s thoughts that envy was pushed aside.  _ Of course _ , Lou would succeed, and she would come home to Debbie, and they would be together forever,  _ forever _ , because Debbie loved her. 

“What are you grinning about?” Amita asked suspiciously.

Debbie jumped. “Nothing.” She tried to contort her face into something more impassive. 

“Good, because when you smile like that I always worry that you have an idea, and we’ve barely finished with  _ this  _ idea.” Amita gestured at the room. Nine Ball had taken up residence on the couch and Constance was trying to set up Instagram on Tammy’s phone. 

Debbie smirked. Amita knew her too well. “It’s got nothing to do with this,” she insisted. 

Amita’s eyes widened, and Debbie watched her gaze drop to the spot on her neck that Tammy had noticed earlier. “Lou,” Amita said - a statement, not a question. “You two finally...uh...talked?”

Debbie sighed exasperatedly. “Don’t you and Tammy have more interesting couples to obsess over? Aren’t Brad and Angelina back together?” 

Amita blinked. “Debbie, that was like six ye--”

“Six years ago?” 

“Right, sorry. Forgot you were gone.” 

“I was in  _ prison _ , I wasn’t  _ g-- _ ” 

The door opened, and Debbie looked over Amita’s shoulder to see Lou standing in the doorway. She looked tired, but otherwise pleased with herself. 

“Go get your girl,” Amita whispered in Debbie’s ear. She squeezed Debbie’s shoulder as she slipped away. 

Debbie blushed and walked towards Lou. Lou’s eyes found hers, and Debbie wanted to run towards her, fling herself into her arms. Instead, she seemed to glide between the furniture at a snail’s pace. At last, Lou was before her, and Debbie smiled at her. Lou looked a little bemused as she smiled back. 

“All good?” she asked. 

Debbie nodded. “You?” 

“She’ll be here on Thursday,” Lou said in a low voice. “John’ll track her down tomorrow.”

“And she seemed...interested?” 

Lou shrugged. “Took her a bit to trust me, but the cut was pretty irresistible. I’m sorry I didn’t respond to your text. I...can we talk?” 

Debbie looked around at the group, all of whom were engaged in their own conversations. “Yeah, let’s go upstairs.”

Debbie walked close to her, reached out to grab her hand halfway up the staircase as the steps seemed to rise with them like an escalator. The wine really had gotten to her. Everything seemed to be glowing with a soft, golden light; her limbs were heavy and relaxed. Debbie sat on the bed, and Lou stood by the window. She looked beautiful, Debbie thought. The sun reflected off her hair and her necklaces, outlined the contours of her face and shoulders. She seemed to be speaking very quietly, very slowly. Debbie listened without hearing every word. 

It was so calm in here, like floating. 

She was happy; she was in love. 

Then Debbie blinked, confused. For a second, it seemed as though there were two Lou Millers standing before her, speaking in unison. 

She blinked again, and they solidified into one person, but it wasn’t Lou. Ice flooded Debbie’s stomach. 

The woman resembled Lou closely - tall, lanky, with blonde hair and blue eyes. But her cheekbones weren’t quite as sharp, her shoulders were narrower, her hair was not  _ quite  _ platinum blonde. She was wearing a cocktail dress and stilettos - something that was far more Debbie’s style than Lou’s. 

Debbie wanted to run. She knew what would happen next, wrapped her arms around herself in her own too-tight dress that left little to the imagination. Sure enough, a voice spoke behind her. 

“I thought we’d try something new today,” Claude murmured. His mouth was an inch from her ear, and she could feel the warmth of his body just behind hers. “This is Margaret. She seemed like your type.” 

“I don’t know what you…” Debbie said quietly.

“Yes, you do,” he said soothingly, stroked her hair. “I know everything about you, Debbie Ocean.” 

Debbie swallowed hard. 

“I want you to do this for me,” he whispered. His hand ran up her leg, scratching gently, finding the edge of her underwear under her skirt. 

She didn’t like how he made her feel, but he was useful all the same. The money was good, and anything that could make her forget how much she missed Lou was welcome, as far as Debbie was concerned. She looked at the woman. Maybe if she focused on the differences, the similarities wouldn’t matter so much. Debbie licked her lips and stepped towards the woman. 

“I’m Debbie,” she said quietly. 

“I know who you are,” she said, reached out to cup Debbie’s cheek, more roughly than Lou would. At least he hadn’t gotten the voice right, because  _ no one  _ could match Lou’s deep Australian drawl. 

Debbie kissed her, tried not to notice how soft the woman’s lips were because Lou’s were that soft, too. Claude moved closer behind her until she could feel him pressed against her back. His fingers danced along the hem of her skirt. He rolled it up, rough hands caressing her bare skin. Debbie fought against a wave of nausea as his fingers pressed  _ into  _ her. Then:

“No,” she said suddenly. Her voice cut through the room. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry.” 

All at once, she was facing him. He caressed her cheek. “Finally found your limits,” he murmured. 

She was alone now, curled in her own bed, in her tiny apartment after trying to scrub the smell of him and of  _ her  _ from her skin. What would happen now? 

She was afraid. 

The next time she saw him, he had the provenance waiting for her to sign, and she was confused. Why was he being so nice to her, giving her more of a role? Perhaps she had misjudged him.  _ One signature, half a million dollars. _

A week later the handcuffs were cold against her wrists and his eyes showed a mixture of hatred and triumph. 

Orange was never her color. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Debbie's still got some trauma to deal with. :(


	8. Jump So High

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lou smoothed the front of her deep maroon vest, tucked her bright red tie a little more securely down the front. Butterflies flapped against her ribs. She almost laughed at herself, at how lovestruck she felt. A second later, she almost cried, because this - her and Debbie - wasn’t trivial at all, and she was done with trying to convince herself that it was anything other than the most important thing in her life.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Lou smiled sweetly at Daphne and crossed her legs, leaning back in one of the shockingly uncomfortable armchairs in Daphne’s suite. 

“Seriously, I’ll call security.” 

“Just hear me out,” Lou said, leaning forward and holding up her hands. 

“Why? Are you a fan? You can’t just  _ break into  _ my suite and expect me to--”

“I’m not a fan.” 

Daphne blinked. “Is that supposed to  _ help  _ you, or…?”

“You tell me. Sounds like a pretty exciting night at the Gala last night.” Lou snapped her gum and waited. 

Daphne was having none of it. “Yeah, so now half the planet thinks I’m bulimic after puking up a bowl of soup and the other half thinks I did it for the attention of losing $150,000 in diamonds.”

“I thought they found the diamonds,” Lou said, smirking. 

“They  _ did,  _ but…” 

“Wrong.” 

“What?” 

“They didn’t.” 

“You just said they--!” 

Lou reached a hand into her pocket and pulled out her piece of the Toussaint, hanging heavy on its silver chain. “ _ We _ found the diamonds -  _ these  _ diamonds. Obviously, this is only some of them. But I think you’ll recognize this.” She turned the necklace over to reveal the unique magnetic clasp that had almost proved their downfall. Amita had tucked it away in the back of Lou’s piece, but it was still unmistakeable. 

Daphne frowned. Lou could almost see her mind trying to fit the pieces together. 

“Rose wasn’t very subtle, I’ll admit,” Lou said, “but I think she got the job done. The Toussaint security team wasn’t chosen for their intelligence, more for their muscles and their practice with shooting civilians.” 

“Yeah, those guys were pretty intense.”

Lou smirked. 

“So, what, I’m supposed to believe that Rose Weil is a criminal mastermind?”

Lou laughed. “Rose? God, no. Though, to be fair,” Lou expanded, “she handled all of this much better than I expected. She may look ridiculous, but--”

“She  _ is  _ ridiculous.” 

Lou conceded the point with a nod. “Even so, she was exactly what we needed.” 

Daphne’s eyes widened, and she inhaled sharply. “She  _ was  _ looking at someone through the window that day!” 

“You’re smarter than you look.” 

“Don’t patronize me. So,  _ you’re  _ the one behind all of this?” Daphne gestured at Lou and seemed to take in her full appearance for the first time.

“Not exactly.” 

“Then who is?” 

Lou grinned and leaned forward with her elbows on her knees. “I have a proposition for you,” she said. 

Daphne narrowed her eyes. “I’m listening.” 

**

Daphne, it turned out, was not one to be satisfied with just a few details. Two hours later, Lou left the actress’s suite with her brain limp as a wrung sponge. Daphne had questioned every tidbit of information, gone over aspects of the job again and again, found loopholes in every one of Lou’s half-truths. Still, Lou was satisfied. Even if things with Debbie were up in the air, at least the job was coming along nicely. Daphne hadn’t seemed at all surprised to learn the truth about Claude Becker, and she seemed positively gleeful about the opportunity to take him down. 

Lou pulled out her phone as she stepped onto the street and was surprised to find a text from Debbie, which was already several hours old. The hoops Lou had needed to jump through in order to get into Daphne’s suite undetected had taken her longer than expected. She read Debbie’s words through twice, and warmth spread through her limbs. Lou pivoted on her heel, looked up at the bright blue sky, and couldn’t prevent a smile from spreading across her face. She slipped her phone back into her pocket once more; she was on her way home after all. Home to Debbie who was  _ waiting  _ for her. Debbie, who was always ruled by her stomach, so  _ of course _ she’d slipped out first thing in the morning for bagels. Debbie, who had said she was  _ hers _ last night. 

The journey back to the loft flew by, and before she knew it, Lou was crossing the abandoned lot next door, kicking gravel with the toe of her boot just to watch it scatter. The afternoon sun beat hot on the back of her neck, and she took off her blazer as she neared the door.  She smoothed the front of her deep maroon vest, tucked her bright red tie a little more securely down the front. Butterflies flapped against her ribs. Lou almost laughed at herself, at how lovestruck she felt. A second later, she almost cried, because this - her and Debbie - wasn’t trivial at all, and she was done with trying to convince herself that it was anything other than the most important thing in her life. Lou opened the door. 

She hadn’t expected to be greeted by the entire team, but the main floor of the loft was full of the sound of clinking glasses and excited chatter. She watched Rose fret over a torn seam on Tammy’s sweater, grinned as Constance flipped herself over the back of the couch to land next to Nine Ball, but her eyes sought Debbie. And there she was, across the room, speaking with Amita. Her eyes found Lou’s almost immediately. She looked happy, Lou thought,  _ so  _ happy - reflecting the elation that Lou felt, too. She was there, right in front of her, before Lou could decide what to say, and she was smiling so broadly that Lou felt she must have missed a major update on the job. 

“All good?”

Lou wanted her on her own, asked her if they could slip away as soon as she could. As they climbed the stairs, Debbie reached out for her hand. Lou couldn’t remember the last time she had seen Debbie this calm, this happy. Not since prison, that was for sure. It was a relief to know she could still smile like  _ that _ , to know that her eyes could still pierce Lou as though she was the only person Debbie had ever seen clearly. Lou pulled Debbie into the bedroom, and shut the door behind them. The chatter of the others fell to a dull murmur. Debbie sat down on the edge of the bed and watched Lou as she moved around the room, hastily tidying up the top of the bureau and straightening the curtains. She had left in a hurry this morning, confused and hurt after waking up alone. The evidence of that couldn’t mar this moment. 

“Lou,” Debbie began softly.

“Debs, it’s okay. All of it,” Lou told her, sensing yet another apology. “I don’t need an explanation right now, I just...I want to be with you.” 

“Me too, baby.” 

“Last night was…” Lou shook her head, lost for words. “I can’t explain it. Not just the job - all of it.” She winked at Debbie, who blushed. “But I meant it when I said you did well, honey. And I mean  _ all  _ of it, even the stuff with Claude…Well, it worked. Especially with trying to get Daphne involved, I’m not going to deny that I was worried, but…” Lou shrugged and leaned against the side of the armchair by the window. “You were right.”

Debbie winced at the mention of Claude, and her gaze became unfocused for a moment. Lou immediately regretted mentioning him, but Debbie had to know that she wasn’t going to shy away from anything Debbie told her about him. She would bear it because Debbie had  _ lived  _ it. 

“Anyway,” Lou went on. “There’s something I need to tell you. I should have said it years ago, but I didn’t really  _ know _ until you got locked up. I should have told you when I came to visit, or the second you got out. I...I  _ love  _ you, Debbie.”

Lou looked at her as she said the words. Debbie’s lips were slightly parted, as if in surprise. She was staring at Lou, but after a beat of silence, Lou registered that Debbie’s gaze still seemed unfocused. 

_ No _ , Lou thought.  _ Not now. _

Something was wrong. Debbie’s eyes moved rapidly, looking past Lou. Her pupils dilated, and she shuddered. Lou thought of the glasses clinking downstairs, and wondered how much Debbie had drunk. Or, worse, had she used again in Lou’s absence? Lou hated the distrust that swam to the forefront of her mind, slipping comfortably in next to the guilt. Why hadn’t she realized that something wasn’t right? And now she couldn’t take back the words, could never again say them for the first time. Debbie’s lips moved as though she were speaking to someone, and Lou thought she caught the word “No.” Lou knelt in front of her, gripped her hands. Debbie’s eyelids fluttered for a moment, and then her eyes drifted closed and she tipped sideways on the bed. 

“It’s not supposed to be like this,” Lou whispered in a cracked voice. “You need  _ help _ , Debbie. You…” But Lou’s brain was working faster than her voice. Tammy had arrived at the loft when Lou was leaving, and Debbie had presumably spent the whole day with her. Debbie wouldn’t have used with Tammy around; she was too smart for that. But if Tammy had suggested a drink with lunch, Debbie would have accepted, and if Tammy got a little heavy-handed with the pours in the aftermath of the heist, who could blame her?

Lou could. 

Debbie had always been a lightweight. Tammy should have remembered that.

Lou kissed Debbie’s forehead, made sure she was lying comfortably. The elation that had swelled inside her pressed itself back into a hopeful bubble somewhere in the pit of her stomach. Right now, she needed an explanation. Her hands shook as she left the room, made her way around the balcony and back downstairs, pace quickening with every step. 

“Tammy,” she called as she reached the bottom of the stairs. “I need a word.” 

Tammy pulled herself away from Rose who was still tugging at Tammy’s sweater. “Hey, Lou!” she said with a wave. She stumbled once as she walked towards her, almost spilling the beer in her hand. 

Lou glared at her; Tammy’s smile faltered. 

“What’s up? Where’s Debbie? I thought you two were going to talk.” 

Lou scoffed. “Yeah, well, Debbie passed out.” 

“What?” 

Lou gave a humorless laugh. “How much as she had, Tammy?” 

“We split the rest of the Chardonnay with lunch,” Tammy answered, unconcerned. “It wasn’t that much, and I don’t think she had anything after that. It wasn’t that long ago. The girls showed up, Constance threw her bracelet into Debbie’s cream cheese, and--”

“--I don’t give a damn about cream cheese, Tammy. I’m trying to figure out why Debbie passed out two seconds after...I don’t think she even heard what I said, but…” She rubbed the side of her neck where an ache was starting to take hold. “Tammy, are you  _ sure  _ she didn’t have anything else?” 

“I crushed a Valium into her second glass of wine,” Tammy said with a shrug. “Did the same for mine. Always used to be a nice way to cool down after a job.” 

“You what?” 

“A Valium. What, are you surprised?” 

“FUCK.” Lou hadn’t meant for her voice to be so loud. Everyone in the room turned to look at her. It was suddenly very quiet. 

“Lou, I--”

“Get the  _ fuck  _ out, Tammy, or I swear to God, I  _ will  _ hurt you.” 

“ _ Lou--” _

“I’m serious,” Lou said. Her voice was quieter now and she felt it deepening with her anger. “Leave! Come back tomorrow or whatever, but you need to get out  _ now  _ before I throw you out of here myself. You had no business fucking with her drink.” 

Tammy looked shocked, confused. “We used to do it all the time, Lou. You  _ know  _ that.”

“That was  _ before _ ,” Lou growled at her. 

“Is she okay, Lou?” Tammy asked in a placating voice, reaching out to touch Lou’s arm. 

“It’s none of your business.” Lou shrugged her hand away. 

“She’s probably just coming down with something, I can--” 

“Get  _ OUT! _ ” Lou shouted. “All of you, just...I don’t know, go find somewhere else to sleep for a night or two. Debbie will kill you if you’re not back here by Thursday, but until then, just...just  _ go _ .” Lou choked on the last word, raised a trembling hand to her lips. 

Tears swam in Tammy’s eyes. She opened her mouth. 

“Come on, Tammy,” Amita said cajolingly, sweeping over to grab Tammy’s arm. “Let’s get out of here, give them some space.” 

Tammy stared at Lou for another moment before turning away. The others filed out, and Lou watched them, stoic and unmoving until the door had closed with a snap. Even though she wanted them gone, she felt incredibly lonely. It was a relief to know that Debbie hadn’t used willingly, but all the same, the future of their partnership seemed blocked at every turn by circumstance. 

Yet even as tears sprung in Lou’s eyes, her will strengthened. Yes, it was hard. It had  _ always  _ been hard. First there were the tiny apartments, the inherent transience, the fear of commitment. Then Lou had left, and Debbie had found Claude. Next came prison and despair. And now there were drugs, uncertainty, and a job bigger than any they had attempted. It had  _ always  _ been hard, but it didn’t have to be that way anymore. Lou swallowed and mentally shook herself. Her way forward was simple. 

She locked the front door behind the team, climbed the stairs, and let herself into her bedroom. Debbie had moved up on the bed, settled against Lou’s pillows. She was breathing steadily and deeply, and Lou knew all she could do was wait. Debbie seemed comfortable enough, but Lou pulled a blanket from the end of the bed and tucked it closely around her. She stroked Debbie’s hair. Debbie shifted a little and buried her face more deeply into Lou’s pillow with a contented hum. Lou smiled softly. 

She felt calm now, calm and a little sad. Sinking into the armchair by the window, Lou fished out her cigarettes and lighter from her pocket. She was trying to quit, had gradually weaned herself down to just two per day. The first drag felt rough on the back of her throat as the day caught up with her. She was  _ allowed _ to be sad. They had already wasted so much time, and thanks to Tammy, these were yet more moments that they would never get back. It was stupid to care about a few hours in comparison to two decades of partnership, but Lou was tired of waiting. Her patience had run its course, and to hell with anyone who would judge her for a little self-pity. Debbie deserved her whole truth, had deserved it for  _ years _ . 

**

“Lou?” 

Lou stirred and looked towards the bed. Her cigarette had long since burned to ash, but her eyes were still wet and her cheeks felt sticky. Still, she felt a smile turn the corners of her mouth as Debbie turned over and looked at her. 

“Hey, Debs,” Lou rasped. She cleared her throat. 

“Lou, what happened, I…” A look of terror spread across Debbie’s face. “I didn’t use, Lou. I  _ didn’t _ . What the hell…” 

“No, Debbie. It’s...it’s not your fault,” Lou assured her. She uncurled her legs from the armchair and moved to the bed. 

Debbie squeezed her eyes closed and shook her head. “I was with Claude, and...and…” she took a deep shuddering breath and began to cry. Lou knelt in front of her and pulled her into a tight embrace. 

She wasn’t sure what else to say except the truth. “It was Valium, Debs. Tammy put it in your glass of wine.” Lou gritted her teeth against the anger that threatened to bubble up in her chest once more. Tammy had no right…

“Wh-what?” Debbie stammered, pulling back to look at Lou’s face. “Tammy?” 

Lou nodded and wiped Debbie’s tears away with her thumbs. 

“I never thought to tell her…” Debbie began. 

“It wasn’t your fault.” 

“I was so  _ happy, _ Lou. You got home, and we were going to talk, and then…” 

“I know,” Lou said, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand as her voice broke. “You passed out after I...well…” 

“ _ What _ , Lou?” Debbie asked. “Baby, don’t cry, I’m okay.” It was her turn to wipe Lou’s tears. 

Lou nodded. “It’s not that. It’s that I...I  _ love  _ you, Debbie,” she choked out. Trembling, she reached out to cup Debbie’s face in both her hands. “I love you so much. And I should have told you  _ years  _ ago, and then earlier, right after I  _ did  _ tell you, you...well, you weren’t  _ here  _ anymore, and--” 

“You told me earlier?” Debbie asked. “Oh, Lou.” Debbie’s fingers were shaking almost as much as Lou’s were as they traced the side of her face. 

“I could  _ kill  _ Tammy,” Lou said with a watery laugh. 

Debbie cracked a smile as she continued to trace Lou’s cheekbones, jaw, neck. “Baby, I love you too,” Debbie murmured. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yes,” Debbie said in a firm tone. “I only just realized the other day, but...I’ve loved you  _ forever _ , Lou. I wanted to tell you this morning, but you had already left to deal with Daphne Kluger, so I promised myself I would tell you when you got home, and then…” The words came out in a rush as if she were trying to contain both laughter and sobs in the same breath. 

Lou didn’t need to hear anymore; she just needed  _ her _ . Their lips met - salty, sticky, and then smooth as Lou deepened the kiss, licked into Debbie’s mouth. She pulled at Debbie’s clothes until Debbie groaned in frustration, hooked two fingers into the deep neckline of Lou’s vest, and tugged. Somewhat surprised by Debbie’s strength, Lou found herself straddling Debbie’s hips in an exact reversal of the kiss they had shared all those weeks ago on the day Lou picked her up from the cemetery. Debbie’s hands trailed over her shoulders, down her back, slipped into the back pockets of her dark red pants. The touch sent an aching shiver of pleasure down Lou’s spine. 

Minutes or hours later, Debbie broke the kiss with a gasp. Lou moaned, sought Debbie’s lips once more, but Debbie held her off. 

“I’m ready to tell you,” she whispered. “About the drugs.” 

Lou pulled back, ran her fingers through Debbie’s hair. “It can wait, Jailbird.” 

“No,” Debbie said. “No, I  _ want  _ to tell you.” 

Lou nodded warily. She had been so certain that she needed Debbie’s whole story, but now she wasn’t so sure. The idea of Debbie suffering was hard to stomach. Lou braced herself for the worst as she slid off Debbie’s lap and made herself comfortable on her side next to her with one elbow propped beneath her head. Debbie settled down opposite her, still cushioned by the pillows on Lou’s side of the bed. Lou shifted closer to her and reached out to stroke a hand down Debbie’s side, over her black long-sleeve T-shirt. 

“It was four years ago,” Debbie began, “about a year before you came to visit me. Someone slipped something into my food.” 

Lou narrowed her eyes. “Why?” 

“Drug possession would have bought me another few years. I don’t know for sure, but I wouldn’t be surprised if whoever it was had some connection to the woman who stabbed me.” She absentmindedly touched the spot under her breast where her scar was concealed.

Lou winced. 

“I was attacked in year one,” Debbie told her. “Weird shit always seemed to happen in the spring. You coming to visit was the good kind of weird three years ago, but usually it wasn’t as pleasant.” She swallowed. “Anyway, I don’t know what they gave me - something hallucinogenic, because I woke up in solitary with a sprained ankle from kicking a wall and a huge loophole sewn up in the Met plan. Somehow, I had figured out how to get the necklace from the bathroom to Amita’s hands with myself on camera the whole time. I’d been working on a solution for months, but…” Debbie sighed. “...I didn’t come up with anything until the drugs.” 

“I’m sure you would have thought of something eventually,” Lou reasoned. 

“Probably,” Debbie agreed, “but in the visions it was so  _ easy, _ and after things went back to normal, there were other pieces that fell into place. I knew I could have gotten a hit of something if I wanted to, and God, it was tempting.”

“What stopped you?” Lou asked. 

“Wasn’t worth the risk. I could have been in there for decades, and I couldn’t...couldn’t  _ bear  _ that.” She reached out and stroked Lou’s cheek. 

“So, when you got out…” 

“When I got out, I went shopping. I needed new clothes, for one thing, and…” She paused and shook her head. 

Lou stroked her side. “It’s okay, Debs, you can tell me.” 

Debbie grimaced. “I bought as much cocaine as I could with the cash I had left and some extra I’d stolen. I collected the items for a kit from different stores, told myself I wouldn’t use it unless there was an emergency - something so outside my control that the job would have to be cancelled otherwise.”

Lou frowned. “But there wasn’t an emergency, not until yesterday with the magnet.” 

“No…” Debbie half-smiled. “No, I...Lou you have to promise me you won’t blame yourself for what happened, okay?” She wrapped a strand of Lou’s hair around her finger and tugged gently. 

Lou nodded. 

“The first time I used was the first day we had the whole team together. I was jealous and sad and I didn’t know how to reach you.” Debbie raised her eyebrows slightly, as if she was challenging Lou to question her. 

But Lou didn’t. She had seen how far away Debbie’s gaze had been, had sensed her insecurity. “Go on,” Lou encouraged her. 

Debbie sighed. “I wanted to figure out  _ us _ , Lou. But I didn’t. I just felt lonely, like I could see the world spinning and everyone was leaving me behind. After a while, it all became too much, and I needed to shut it off. But I  _ couldn’t _ , ended up in here - in your bed, and woke up next morning to one hell of an upset stomach.” 

“Yeah, I remember,” Lou said through a grimace. “So, if it wasn’t...wasn’t  _ good _ that time. What made you do it again?” 

Debbie shook her head and her brow creased. “I’m not sure. I think part of me thought that time was just a fluke, a bad trip. Last week, after--” 

“After we fought?”

Debbie nodded solemnly. “I really thought you had left. Tammy kept telling me you hadn’t, but I didn’t believe her, and I thought the only way to get you back was to fix the job. But I didn’t know how, and...and…”

“It’s okay, honey,” Lou assured her. “You don’t have to go through it again. I was there, remember?” She smiled sadly. 

Debbie winced. “I never wanted you to see me like that. And then I  _ hurt  _ you.” She reached for Lou’s wrist and brought it to her lips, kissing the soft skin where the bruises that had been purple a week before had faded to a yellowish brown. “It’s not going to happen again,” she went on, “I promise. But I still think about it, how clear everything was after the hallucinations back in prison, how I could see everything fitting into place when I shot up for the first time, at least before it all became so overwhelming. It’s--” 

“I know,” Lou said, cutting her off. She looked at her hand clasped in Debbie’s instead of into her eyes. 

“What?” 

“I  _ know _ , Debs, I...I made some mistakes. The first years you were inside, I didn’t take care of myself. I drank a lot, more than anyone ever should, and I experimented.” 

“Lou, you don’t have to--”

“No, you told me your story; it’s only fair you hear mine.” 

“We’re well-past owing each other anything, don’t you think?” Debbie asked ruefully. 

Lou cracked a smile at that, but she ploughed on. “I stole what I could from women I slept with.” Her tone was blunt, and she kept her eyes fixed anywhere but on Debbie’s. She couldn’t bear the disappointment or hurt that was sure to appear there. “Pain meds, antidepressants - you name it. I sold some of it, but I kept plenty. Used it when the dreams were too much.”

“Nightmares?” Debbie asked. 

Lou shook her head. “Worse. Being awake was a nightmare, but at night...at night I had  _ you _ . In my dreams, you were always there. And then I would wake up and you were still  _ gone _ .”

“Oh, Lou…” 

Lou closed her eyes, tugged Debbie’s hand towards herself and pressed her lips against their entwined fingers. “We’re both here now,” Lou whispered. 

Debbie shifted closer. “I love you.” 

After so many years of despair, it was strange for Lou’s eyes to suddenly be wet with something other than sadness. Joy was long-forgotten, almost foreign. “I’ve loved you forever,” she said in a strained voice. “I’m not going to use again, and neither are you.”

Debbie pressed a kiss to her cheek. “We robbed the  _ Met _ , baby.”

“Yeah,  _ fuck  _ cocaine. I’ve never had a high like that.” 

Debbie laughed. “Me neither. Good enough to last a lifetime, and making sure  _ he’s  _ gone, well...that’ll be the icing on the cake.” She yawned. “God, I’m tired.” 

Lou felt it, too. Undeniable exhaustion was spreading through her. It felt like she had just run a marathon. She shifted more comfortably onto her side and nestled into Debbie’s warmth. She could hear Debbie’s heart beating steadily. It was quiet in the room, peaceful in a way it had never been. It was  _ theirs  _ now, the way it was always meant to be. Debbie pulled the blanket up around their shoulders, and Lou drifted off to the sound of her breaths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eyyyyyy they finally talked! at least a little bit! And they said the thing!


	9. Cypress Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Debbie had missed all of her. 
> 
> But this - the privilege of Lou’s vulnerability - this she had missed more than anything.

_ “Finally found your limits.” _

_ “Limits?”  _

_ “I knew we’d get there eventually.”  _

_ His mouth was on her neck before she could speak, and Debbie closed her eyes, breathed through her mouth so she couldn't smell his cologne. _

_ “You’re still just a fucking dyke, aren’t you?” he whispered. Margaret tittered a laugh behind her, and Debbie heard her sit down. To watch. She was uncomfortably aware of her dress pushed up around her hips.  _

_ “I--”  _

_ “But it isn’t just that, is it?” he murmured, sitting down on the edge of the bed behind him and tugging down the front of her dress.  _

_ Tears rolled down her cheeks, but he didn’t seem to notice.  _

_ “Margaret  _ is  _ your type.”  _

_ “No--” Her eyelids fluttered involuntarily as his teeth grazed her nipple.  _

_ He sighed and reached into his front pocket, carefully placed the Polaroid down on the bedspread, and returned his attention to Debbie’s breasts. Debbie blinked, focused on the photograph, and frowned. It didn’t make sense. How could  _ Claude  _ have a picture of  _ Lou _? How could he have  _ that  _ picture? Lou’s eyes were closed, her head tilted sideways on the pillow, one hand curled before her face. Asleep. Her naked shoulder was faded gold; her lips dusky pink. _

_ “That’s mine,” she said sharply.  _

_ He laughed and unzipped his pants. “Maybe.”  _

_ “You  _ stole  _ it.”  _

_ He smirked up at her as he guided her hips downwards. “Good thing we’re both in the business of taking things that aren’t ours.” _

**

Debbie sat up with a jolt, throwing the blanket off her. Her eyes were already open, and the whole scene had played out on the ceiling above her, taking advantage of her half-conscious mind. 

She blinked.  __

The room looked strange, as though it were forming and reforming itself before Debbie’s eyes. Dark spots burst at the corners of her vision. All she could hear was the quickening pace of her breaths, the thundering of blood in her ears. She was trapped in overwhelming sound and color. 

“Debbie,  _ Debs _ . Honey, talk to me.” Lou’s voice sounded like she was underwater, distorted and crackly. 

Debbie wanted to respond, but her tongue wasn’t working properly. Her chest rose and fell in a shallow rhythm - she could feel it beneath her palm, which rested loosely across the base of her throat. Gradually, Debbie became aware of Lou’s fingers gripping her shoulders. She leaned forward, let her upper body fall into Lou. Her nose came to rest under Lou’s jaw, and suddenly Debbie was aware of the smell of oranges and bergamot. She took a deep breath and blinked again. The room seemed unnaturally bright. Debbie buried her face in Lou’s neck and breathed deeply. Lou’s hands slid onto her back, soothing. 

“He fucked me up, Lou,” she whispered, voice cracking. “He really messed me up, and I couldn’t--” She drew a shuddering breath and buried her face more deeply into Lou’s shoulder. “--I couldn’t tell you because it was...it was so  _ horrible. _ ” 

“I’m so sorry, Debs. I’m sorry it happened, sorry I  _ left _ .” Lou continued to stroke her back. “And I’m sorry I pushed you to tell me.” 

“I  _ want  _ to tell you. I do. I blocked it out for so long, but it’s coming back now, and...and…” She swallowed hard, but the words bubbling up inside her needed somewhere to go. “He never forced me, not physically. But he wore me down, made it clear that if I didn’t do what he wanted, there would be consequences. I had always been in charge, you know,  _ sexually  _ \- in other relationships. With you it was different, but with everyone else, I--” 

“I know,” Lou told her. “You don’t have to explain that part. Go on.” 

Debbie nodded gratefully. “Well, he likes being in charge, too, and I wasn’t in a good place. I  _ missed  _ you. At first, I only slept with him because he was so different from you, and I wanted to forget. He asked me to do things - things I wasn’t into, but I didn’t mind so much at first because the payout from the jobs was enough, and I  _ wanted  _ to like him. The problem was, he knew I needed the money and that I wanted a big take of my own. He taunted me. Asked me to...to  _ do  _ things and promised more active roles if I did. He found my weaknesses, and I played along. If I didn’t, I would lose money. But after a while, it got worse. He threatened to place me in riskier positions if I refused him, made it clear - though it was never  _ explicit _ \- that my safety was paid for with his pleasure. Then one day--” 

Debbie sighed and pulled back just enough to see Lou’s face. The sadness in her eyes was almost enough to break her resolve to tell her everything, but now that she had started, it was difficult to stop. Each word she said made her feel lighter. 

“One day,” Debbie continued, “we got drunk. I was almost having a good time. Physically, I still found him attractive enough, and when I was drunk I could forget about all the bad stuff. I’m not  _ proud  _ of it, but that’s how it was. Anyway, he asked someone to join us. In the bedroom. Her name was Margaret. It wasn’t the first time. He liked that I had been with women, he got off on it. What I didn’t know is he had stolen from me.” Debbie’s voice shook. 

“What did he take?” 

“You.” 

“Me?” Lou asked, nonplussed. 

“I took a Polaroid of you asleep, years ago. I don’t even remember which shitty apartment we were in,” Debbie told her. “You were so beautiful, baby. You  _ are  _ so beautiful.” 

Lou blushed and did a poor job hiding her smile even though it faltered a moment later. “He stole it?” 

Debbie nodded. “I didn’t know, not until Margaret showed up looking just enough like you. And I just...I  _ couldn’t _ . I told him no, and she didn’t touch me.  _ He  _ still did, pulled out the picture -  _ my  _ picture of you - and showed me just how little power I had. He gloated about finding my limits, but at the time, I was just relieved that he didn’t make me fuck Margaret. Oh, she stayed, of course, to watch.” Debbie laughed humorlessly. “But I didn’t have to look at her. He didn’t push the issue past that day, and even though it felt horrible to know that he’d gone through my stuff to find  _ you _ , I thought he had been satisfied enough by the power play to cut me a break for saying no.”

“But?” Lou prompted. 

Debbie shrugged. “I was wrong, and I paid for it. He had been waiting for me to break, and I didn’t even realize I had. The next job was bigger, and he told me that I could take a more active role. I was surprised. Then again, a part of me thought that he had been impressed with me finally setting a boundary, albeit a weak one, with Margaret. The fact was, the active role was also a risky one.  _ More  _ than risky, actually. It was a complete set up, and by the time I realized, it was too late.” 

“Debs, I…” But Lou trailed off at a hard look from Debbie. 

“The worst part, in some ways, was realizing how relieved I was to be away from him, to be  _ safe  _ in prison where he couldn’t get to me. I was relieved it was  _ over _ , and for the first time I acknowledged to myself how awful it was. I made myself forget, forced myself to block out all or most of what he did. I knew he had to go down, knew that I had to  _ bring  _ him down, but by the time I was paroled, all I could remember was the hurt, not the specifics. It was better that way.” 

“Until today?” 

Debbie sighed and closed her eyes again. “Until today.” She leaned her forehead against Lou’s. “I told myself I would process all of it after the Gala. Last night had to be perfect, and it was. In more ways than one.” She tilted her head to kiss Lou’s cheek. “I wanted to process everything with  _ us  _ first, baby, because it’s more important. But then the wine and the Valium...I couldn’t think straight, so I guess my brain decided to bring it all back.” 

Lou was silent for a while, and Debbie was content to lean into her and breathe. After more than a minute, Lou spoke, “Thank you for telling me. That’s a hell of a story, Debs, and I’m glad you’re on the other side of it.” 

“There’s more,” Debbie said, “I’m  _ sure  _ there’s more. It’s gonna take some time to--” 

“Take all the time you need, Jailbird, okay? And when you need to talk, I’ll be here.  _ Right  _ here.” Lou cupped Debbie’s jaw and brought their lips together. 

“I thought you were going to California, baby,” Debbie murmured into the kiss. 

“It can wait.” 

“But--!”

“This is the only place I want to be.” 

**

Dinner was Chinese food, just like that first night together. Lou remembered Debbie’s favorites, and by the time the poker table was set with plates and chopsticks, Debbie’s mouth was watering. She tried to serve herself moderate portions, but it didn’t take long for her plate to fill up - brightly colored sauces running into one another and seeping into piles of white rice. 

“Hungry?” Lou asked. 

“Starving.” Debbie wasted no more time, digging into the food as though she hadn’t eaten in weeks. Despite her hunger, it was difficult to remain focused on her meal with Lou looking at her like  _ that  _ from across the table, watching every bite travel from her plate to her mouth. There was a heavy tension in the air - heavy but not unpleasant. It was warm, and Debbie savored it, right alongside her orange chicken. 

“You want seconds?” Lou asked, as Debbie swallowed her last piece of broccoli. 

She shook her head and smiled at Lou with slightly pursed lips. 

Lou blushed. “What?” 

“This feels like a date, baby. I’m wondering what’s coming next.” 

“There’s ice cream, if you want, for dessert,” Lou told her, pushing her chair back from the table and reaching for their plates. 

Debbie batted her hand away. “Leave it. I have a better idea.”

“Do you?” Lou sat back in her chair and massaged the inside of her cheek with her tongue. 

Debbie watched the movement, hungry now despite her sated appetite. She rose from her chair, and approached Lou, reached out to caress the side of her face. She traced her cheek bone with the pad of her finger and then let her hand fall to Lou’s neck, where she fingered the silk of her bright red tie. Lou’s eyes darted over her face, suddenly serious where mere seconds before they had been mischievous. 

“I love you, Debbie.” There was nothing fraught about the words this time. Lou’s cheeks were dry, and her voice was untroubled. It might have been the first time she was saying it, instead of the way she had choked it out in desperation when Debbie had awoken earlier. 

“Come show me how much?” Debbie asked softly. She met Lou’s gaze and tugged gently on the tie between her fingers. 

A grin spread gradually across Lou’s face; her eyes sparkled. Debbie smiled back, impressed - as always - by Lou’s infectious happiness. Lou’s hand was in hers before Debbie could ask her again, and then she was on her feet and Debbie was leading her upstairs. Outside, the sky was growing dark, but inside, Lou flicked on one of the bedside lamps and bathed the room in golden light. Debbie admired the lines of her suit - the dark red brought out a hint of strawberry blonde in Lou’s platinum hair. When she approached Debbie once more, Debbie reached for her, slid her hands under the shoulders of Lou’s blazer and onto her bare skin. Lou stilled, allowed Debbie to continue to undress her - necklace by necklace, button by button, until she was half-clothed and leaning against the dresser. Her vest slid to the floor, and Debbie couldn’t prevent a low whine from escaping her lips at the sight of Lou’s breasts highlighted by her black bra. She had seen Lou naked less than twenty four hours ago, but this was different. This was  _ forever _ , and they both knew it. 

Debbie guided Lou to sit in the armchair by the window, and Lou looked up at her. Debbie had missed  _ all  _ of her. But this - the privilege of Lou’s vulnerability -  _ this _ she had missed more than anything. Debbie stepped back and let her eyes travel over Lou, taking in every inch of her. 

Lou tossed her hair back from her face and sprawled in the chair, arms hanging loosely across her thighs, which were still clad in maroon silk. “Are you just going to stand there?” she asked, gesturing towards Debbie. 

In answer, Debbie pulled her shirt off over her head, letting it fall to a floor on top of Lou’s blazer. She tilted her head to one side, as if daring Lou to complain. Lou didn’t. She sat back in the armchair with her hands behind her head, eyes lingering shamelessly on Debbie’s breasts. 

“Well played, honey.”

“Sh,” Debbie told her, “let me get naked for you.” 

“All for me?” 

“Of course.” 

Debbie unbuttoned her jeans and pushed them down her legs, leaving her olive green lace thong in place for now. Sweeping her hair back from her face, she took a few steps forward until she was standing right in front of Lou, looking down at her in the armchair. 

“Come here,” Lou murmured. 

Debbie straddled her lap, settling her knees between the chair’s arms and Lou’s hips. She threaded her fingers into Lou’s hair as Lou guided her hips into place against her own. Debbie couldn’t resist grinding against her just enough to take the edge off her arousal, which was thrumming under her skin. 

“God, I missed you,” Debbie whispered, settling her palms on Lou’s shoulders.

Lou’s hands ran up her back. “Need to  _ see  _ you.” She undid Debbie’s bra, and it slipped down her arms. She tossed it aside. 

Lou placed kisses down Debbie’s sternum. The relief of having Lou’s mouth on her at last was all-consuming. A shudder ran through her, and she clutched Lou’s head to her chest. A whine that she could barely recognize as her own pierced the quiet of the room, and Lou hummed a laugh in response, which Debbie felt around her nipple as Lou’s lips finally closed around it. Lou’s hands slipped further down her back and around to her thighs, scratching hard enough to leave red lines across her skin. 

“ _ Fuck, _ ” Debbie swore, breaths coming in gasps. She pressed into Lou, desperate for friction.

Lou grinned up at her, now tracing circles towards Debbie’s center. Debbie gazed back through a haze of arousal, hands scrabbling at Lou’s back and scalp and eventually tugging her up just enough to crash their lips together. She panted against Lou’s mouth as her fingers continued to dance inwards.

“Touch me,” she gasped. 

“Like this?” Lou asked, scratching her fingers a fraction of an inch closer to where Debbie wanted them. 

“ _ Please _ , baby.” At last, Lou’s fingertips slid across the thin fabric of her thong. Debbie rocked against the hint of pressure. 

“You’re  _ dripping _ .” 

“I  _ love  _ you.” 

Two of Lou’s fingers slid into her, and Debbie groaned, her whole body giving over to the sparks now swirling outward from her core. She rolled herself against Lou’s palm, and looked down between their bodies to see a damp patch on Lou’s dark red pants. 

“You owe me a suit, Jailbird,” Lou whispered, following Debbie’s gaze. 

Debbie managed a laugh, which turned to a moan as Lou added a third finger. The stretch sent warmth through her stomach, coiling taut deep inside her. She leaned her forehead against Lou’s and bore down on her fingers, still desperate for  _ more _ . Lou adjusted her hand slightly, and all at once, she was hitting an entirely new array of spots. Debbie gasped in surprise, expected her pleasure to ebb for a moment as they rediscovered a rhythm, but instead the angle was just what she needed. She bucked her hips. 

“Right there?” Lou asked. She thrust into her in time with Debbie’s movements. 

“Yes.  _ Fuck _ , yes. I’m--” 

“Come for me, Debbie. Come on!”

“ _ Lou…!” _

Debbie squeezed her eyes shut as she pulsed around Lou’s fingers. Lou’s free hand was strong against her back, even as the other massaged slow circles over and inside her. For a while all she could hear was the sound of her own breaths, but at last, Lou stirred and shifted to look up at her. 

“I love you so much, Jailbird.” 

Debbie laughed breathlessly and gasped as Lou slid her fingers out of her. Lou brought her hand up to Debbie’s mouth, and Debbie parted her lips eagerly, tasting herself on Lou’s skin. The salt-sweet flavor made her crave Lou more than ever. She couldn’t remember the last time she had tasted her, and Lou had to be aching for it. Getting Debbie off always made Lou equally desperate. 

“I wanna taste you, baby,” Debbie murmured, pausing in the careful attention she was paying to Lou’s fingers. Lou’s hand twitched, and Debbie sucked harder on her fingers, hollowing her cheeks and moving her mouth up and down. 

“Yeah, Debs, I need your mouth.” Lou’s voice was heavy with arousal as she tugged her fingers away from Debbie’s lips. 

Debbie uncurled her legs from either side of Lou’s lap and stood up, a little lightheaded from all the blood that had rushed elsewhere. She tugged Lou towards the bed, pushing her thong down her legs as they went. Lou’s pants came next, then her underwear and bra. By the time Debbie knelt between her legs, Lou was naked and practically glowing in the golden lamp light. The stars were coming out in the darkening sky over the bay; even the neon glow of New York at night couldn’t blot out all of them. Debbie leaned forward, hovered her lips above Lou’s before kissing her deeply. Lou arched off the bed, hips bucking up into Debbie’s waiting palm.

Debbie broke the kiss and nibbled Lou’s neck, determined to raise a matching mark to her own on Lou’s fair skin. Lou groaned, head tilted back against the pillows as Debbie rocked against her. She could have kissed every inch of her, but the slick heat between Lou’s thighs reminded her that she had already been exceedingly patient. 

“Don’t tease, honey,” Lou rasped, as if in response to Debbie’s thoughts. 

“No, baby,” Debbie agreed. “Not tonight.” She placed kisses over her breasts, her ribs, her stomach, swirling her tongue over each new texture of Lou’s flesh. Even she - Deborah Ocean, criminal mastermind,  _ genius _ of the eastern seaboard - had forgotten the exact details of Lou Miller’s perfection. Each moment tingled with both discovery and overwhelming familiarity. At last, Debbie swept her hair to the side and gazed up at Lou from between her legs. She could smell her, and the scent alone was enough to make her own hips roll against the sheets. 

“Baby,” she murmured, holding out her left hand palm-open on Lou’s stomach. Lou’s fingers trembled against her own as they entwined. 

The first taste of her was like coming home. Debbie delved deeper on each stroke. The velvet feel of her was as addicting as her taste, and Debbie pressed closer, allowing Lou’s arousal to drip down her chin as she sucked her. Lou squeezed her hand, and Debbie looked up through heavy lidded eyes to register the ecstasy of Lou’s expression, the flush spreading steadily across her chest. 

“I want you inside me.” 

“Are you sure, baby?” 

Lou nodded. “You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted--” 

“Still?” 

“Always.  _ Please _ , Debbie.” 

Debbie circled her entrance with one finger even as she continued the steady undulation of her tongue. She slid inside, relishing the sensation of Lou’s muscles fluttering around her. She was close, Debbie knew. 

Lou squeezed her hand again. “ _ Fuck _ me.”

Debbie curled her finger and stroked through her heat, licked over her once more as Lou shivered and clenched. 

“ _ More. _ ”

Debbie added another finger and pressed deeper, sucking hard at the same moment. Lou panted and shook, eyelids fluttering in a desperate attempt to keep Debbie in view. Debbie flicked her tongue, maintaining the suction that was starting to make her jaw ache, and thrust her fingers more quickly into Lou. 

Lou had been teetering on the edge for several minutes, but her release still seemed to come out of nowhere, overflowing from something molten at the core of her. Debbie moaned her satisfaction  _ into  _ Lou, guided her through the aftershocks until, with a final jerk of her hips, Lou went slack against the mattress. Spent. 

Debbie crawled up next to her, licking her lips as well as her fingers. Lou heaved a great sigh and opened her eyes. 

“I’m yours, honey,” she whispered. 

Debbie hummed her agreement, nuzzling her nose under Lou’s jaw. 

“Why didn’t we realize sooner?” Lou asked. 

Debbie brought a hand to the side of Lou’s face and brushed her hair away from her eyes. “Maybe it was just too obvious.” 

Lou smiled and tugged her into a kiss, tongue swiping across Debbie’s lower lip. Debbie let her in, and as she did, Lou pushed her onto her back, pressing Debbie into the mattress. Debbie sighed, allowed herself to relax under Lou’s expert hands and mouth. 

“ _ Mine _ , Jailbird.”

“ _ Yours _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the smut was everything you may have been hoping for! It certainly felt like they deserved it.


	10. Just Like This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Debbie loved the changing leaves, the brisk wind off the bay, the occasional thunderstorm with rain lashing against the high windows of the loft. She loved the lengthening nights, too, the quiet, the dark - perfect for passing through crowds unseen. Debbie’s mood had improved as the temperature dropped, and the nightmares or flashbacks or whatever they were had become even less frequent. Lou felt triumphant every morning that she awoke with Debbie wrapped around her for warmth and simple comfort, rather than for protection from the shadows in her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoy the final chapter! :)

“Beatrice.” 

“Beatrice?!”

“Definitely Beatrice,” Debbie insisted. “Problem with that?” 

Lou frowned. “Not the name I would have chosen for a snake.”

“What would you have chosen?” Debbie’s eyes were fixed on the mottled brown snake as it wended its way around her arm.

“Medusa.” 

Debbie shook her head at the snake in exasperation. “She just doesn’t understand, B.” 

Lou felt her expression soften. “I’m glad you like her,” she said. 

“She’s beautiful.” Debbie stroked Beatrice’s tiny head with her thumb. 

Lou smiled and kissed Debbie on the cheek as she slid past her towards the kitchen to make tea. Six weeks ago, Debbie had finally tied the final loose ends of the Met job. Claude Becker was awaiting trial in a stinky jail cell, now facing suspicion for the theft of the crown jewels as well as the Toussaint. Originally, Lou had been planning a trip. Biking the California coast had been a dream of hers for thirty years, but Debbie’s pull was stronger. There would be plenty of time for California later, hopefully with Debbie behind her on her brand new bike. For now, it was good to relax. Somewhat to Lou’s surprise, Debbie actually agreed. Since the gala, Debbie had tossed around a dozen ideas for their next flashy job, but Lou sensed she needed a break, and that’s where Beatrice had come into the picture. Deborah Ocean was never going to be one for conventional pets, but she needed something to pour her heart and soul into. 

The kettle clicked. “Tea’s ready,” Lou called, taking out two mugs and dropping tea bags into them. She poured hot water, filling the room with earthy steam. Turning back to the room, Lou watched Debbie carefully set Beatrice back into her tank, which was, in itself, a work of art - pieces of wood, living plants, and glistening stones were placed meticulously throughout the plexiglass enclosure. Beatrice had moved in a month ago, and though Debbie had only just decided on a name, Lou knew that she was smitten. 

Debbie looked happy as she joined Lou in the kitchen and washed her hands. “I think she’s starting to like me.”

“Hm. I’ll have to keep an eye on her,” Lou teased. “Wouldn’t want any competition.”

Debbie stepped close to her, eyes dancing. She hooked one finger into the vee of Lou’s vest, scraping her skin with the corner of her nail just enough to tease. “Oh, baby, you always come first.” 

**

On the following Saturday, Lou was drawn from sleep by her least favorite sound in the world.

She couldn’t remember Debbie ever having nightmares before she left all those years ago. And indeed, she wasn’t entirely sure if these could be called nightmares, since Debbie often seemed half-awake. They didn’t happen every night, and according to the scribbled chart that Lou kept in the drawer of her bedside table, the frequency was decreasing. Still, Lou could expect to wake up to Debbie’s whimpering at least once a week, which was far too often. 

She hated it. 

This morning, similar to the others, Debbie was staring at the ceiling, lips moving over words that Lou couldn’t hear. Every so often a whining sob raked the back of her throat. She was gripping the blankets in her fists, so tightly that her knuckles were white, her limbs rigid. Lou sighed and propped herself up on her elbow. 

“Debs,” she murmured, bending close to whisper in Debbie’s ear. She had learnt the hard way that startling her didn’t help. 

Debbie’s brow knit in confusion, which Lou took as a sign that she had heard her. 

“Debbie, honey, it’s Lou. You’re safe.” With difficulty, she slid an arm under Debbie’s head, embracing her as best she could in the bed. 

“Lou,” Debbie said in a cracked whisper. Her eyes were still glassy and a single tear leaked from the corner of one to trail down the side of her face and into her hair. Lou kissed the salty remnant on her cheek. 

“It’s not real, Debs, I promise. Tell him to leave you alone. He can’t  _ get  _ to you anymore, Jailbird.” 

Debbie’s leg twitched and she blinked. Lou felt her breathing become deeper, matching her own. 

“That’s right honey, come back to me. You’re in bed, Debbie. With me. And it’s a beautiful day.” Lou planted kisses over any part of her she could reach as Debbie resurfaced. 

“It’s...raining,” Debbie mumbled, glancing towards the window, voice rough from her panic. 

“Still beautiful,” Lou murmured. “Welcome back.” 

Debbie sighed and burrowed into Lou’s chest. “I’m so tired of seeing him, Lou.”

“I know.” Lou kissed the top of her head. 

“This time there were drugs and he wanted me to take them.  _ I  _ wanted me to take them.” Debbie spoke in a monotone, muffled against Lou’s skin. 

“Did he ever--?” 

Debbie shook her head and tilted her chin to look up at Lou. “No, just liquor, and weed occasionally - expensive stuff. Nothing stronger though.” She sighed and squeezed her eyes shut. “I guess it’s just a reminder that I’m not over it.” 

“Not over the drugs? Not over what he did?”

“Not over any of it.” Debbie shook her head. “I just…” She trailed off and rolled onto her back, rubbing a hand over her face. 

Lou waited, gently untangling the knots in her hair. 

“Sometimes I just want to take something to make the dreams stop,” Debbie mumbled at last, speaking so quietly that Lou could barely hear her. “I tell myself it won’t help, that I’ll just get sick and paranoid, and then I kick myself for even considering it. But  _ that  _ doesn’t help either. He’s still in my head when all I want…” She swallowed hard and opened her eyes. “All I want is to be here with you.”

“You  _ are  _ here with me,” Lou assured her. “And you’re right. The drugs won’t help. But Debs, it  _ is  _ getting better. It’s been a whole week since the last time. And look at you - you’re relaxing for the first time in your life, probably.” 

The corner of Debbie’s mouth twitched. “Still trying to convince myself I deserve it.” 

“I know,” Lou said seriously. “But you’re  _ doing  _ it. I know Beatrice appreciates it.” 

“She knows I feed her, that’s for sure.” Debbie couldn’t contain her smile this time.

Warmth spread in Lou’s chest. She stroked her palm back and forth over Debbie’s stomach, pushing her loose sleep shirt up to her ribs. “Do you need a reminder of where you are?” Lou asked. The words felt heavy on her tongue, full of potential. As much as she hated Debbie’s nightmares, she loved being the one to ground her back in reality, just as she loved when Debbie did the same for her. 

Debbie turned her head on the pillow, nose almost bumping against Lou’s. She caressed the side of Lou’s face. “It couldn’t hurt.” 

“Mm,” Lou mused, continuing her gentle caress of Debbie’s stomach and feeling her muscles flutter under her palm. “And?” she prompted softly. 

Debbie smiled. “And I  _ want  _ you.” 

Lou stilled her hand, felt Debbie’s pulse beat in her abdomen. She leaned forward until her lips were almost brushing Debbie’s. “I want you, too.” 

She kissed her before Debbie could respond. A needy whimper escaped from Debbie’s throat, and Lou drank it in, pushing Debbie’s shirt further up to palm her breast. Her nipple hardened under Lou’s palm, and Lou let it pass through her fingers, squeezing firmly. Debbie arched her back and bent her knees, letting them fall open - one against Lou and the other against the mattress. Lou’s heart raced, and as she ran her tongue just under Debbie’s jaw, she noticed her pulse was increasing to match. Debbie’s soft noises of pleasure - no longer muffled by Lou’s mouth - urged Lou onward. She thumbed over Debbie’s nipple once more before tracing down her ribs, her stomach, her hips, alternating between feather-light fingertips and the tickling edge of her fingernail. Debbie’s lacy underwear were already damp by the time Lou rubbed over them. Debbie tilted her hips, rocking against Lou’s palm.

“Mine,” Lou whispered. She tugged on Debbie’s ear lobe with her teeth and felt a shudder run through her. 

“Yours, Lou,” Debbie gasped. “Please…” 

“Shh,” Lou placated. She circled her fingers, massaging firmly and using the friction of Debbie’s panties to her advantage. Lou felt her warmth and wetness increase even through the fabric. “So good for me,” she whispered.

It always amazed Lou how fast Debbie could work herself up, how she opened herself to her so willingly. Debbie’s eyelids fluttered, eyes darting to Lou’s face, and Lou swallowed hard. It wasn’t the moment to be emotional, but when Debbie looked at her like that....

“My girl,” Lou murmured. She leaned in to kiss her properly again, ignoring Debbie’s whine as she slid her hand up her body. Debbie’s hips bucked, chasing her fingers. Lou teased each nipple to a peak once more before bringing her wandering fingers between their mouths. With a moan, Debbie tilted her head forward to suck Lou’s fingers into her mouth. Her tongue flicked, and Lou felt warmth settle heavy between her own legs, deeply aware of what else that tongue could do. 

With slippery fingers, Lou charted a more direct path back down Debbie’s body, bypassing Debbie’s underwear with no pretense. Her body drew Lou in, stretching for three fingers right away, just as Lou had hoped.

“You feel so good, honey,” Lou told her, curling and uncurling her fingers in a steady rhythm, palm tight against her. 

“So do you.” Debbie’s voice was strained with need and rough with arousal. 

One of Debbie’s hands clutched at Lou’s back, short nails scratching at her skin. The other joined Lou’s between her legs, pressing her deeper and guiding her movements. Lou obeyed the pressure, fell into the familiar rhythm that marked Debbie’s desperation for release.

Sex wasn’t the only thing that brought Debbie back after a nightmare. Sometimes there were tears, sometimes talking. Lou had pieced together enough of the story to not only understand why Debbie had needed to personally destroy Claude Becker but also to come close to questioning why he was still breathing. As Debbie had said, he fucked her up, and Lou would never forgive that. As much as she craved her own revenge for what he’d done, Lou followed Debbie’s lead on what she needed. Today, she needed this - Lou’s mouth on her neck, Lou’s fingers inside her, Lou drinking in every moan and whimper. 

Debbie pulsed around Lou’s fingers, every muscle taut and shivering, and Lou groaned her appreciation. “So hot when you come for me,” Lou whispered, breathing the words into the soft skin just behind Debbie’s ear. 

They lay still for a long time after, Debbie’s breaths slowly returning to a normal pace and Lou sucking another mark on her neck - right under her jaw for the whole world to see. She knew Debbie wouldn’t cover it up. Lou kept her fingers inside her, stroking, holding all of Debbie in her hands to remind her who and  _ whose  _ she was. 

“I love you,” Lou said quietly, let the words hang in the air for Debbie to examine. 

She had said them countless times since that first time - the time she didn’t like to remember, when Debbie hadn’t been able to hear her. It still meant something though, and Lou knew she would never get bored of the way Debbie’s eyes crinkled at the corners when she said it. This time, Debbie’s entire face lit up, and Lou kissed her cheek as she slowly withdrew her fingers from inside her. Debbie gave a final moan and then sighed. Her eyes fluttered open just as Lou finished licking her fingers clean. Lou smiled at her. 

“Feeling better?” 

Debbie nodded, though Lou noticed her gaze was still unfocused, as though she was concentrating hard. “Lou,” Debbie began, “Lou, this is  _ it _ , right?” 

“Uh...what is?” 

“ _ This _ !” “Debbie gestured between the two of them. “Us.” 

“Do you really have to ask?” 

“Yes.” Debbie’s response cut across the end of Lou’s question, almost cold. 

Lou frowned, and Debbie winced. 

“Sorry,” she said, reaching out to brush Lou’s fringe off her forehead. “I…”

“ _ Yes _ , honey,” Lou interrupted. “Yes. This is it. You and me. Every step of the way.” 

“Is this a proposal?” Debbie smirked, echoing Lou’s words all those months ago at Vaselka, back when nothing was certain and all Lou wanted was to understand why there was still such distance between them. 

Lou considered her, taking in Debbie’s bright brown eyes, her tousled hair, the purple love bite blooming under her jaw, her kiss-swollen lips. “Yes,” she said at last. “Is that alright?”

Debbie didn’t speak. Her face showed a mixture of bemusement, surprise, and joy, which made Lou want to laugh. Instead, she kissed her, firm and brief, trying to ignore the way her mind was whirring out of control because after everything - after twenty long years - they were finally admitting that this was forever. 

“I don’t have a diamond,” Lou said, voice rough with emotions she couldn’t name. “We sold them all.” 

“I don’t need a diamond, baby. I just need you.” 

“That’s a hell of a line, Ocean.”

“Shut up.” 

**

As much as Debbie loved glamour, pomp and circumstance, and being the center of attention, she wasn’t interested in planning a wedding. After their early morning conversation at the end of August, the topic of Lou’s proposal didn’t come up again for several weeks. Lou figured that Debbie would mention it when she was ready, though the fact that Debbie was apparently getting more out of charting Beatrice’s behavioral quirks than planning an elaborate honeymoon heist was both unexpected and endearing. 

Late one Thursday evening, after making sure that the club was in good hands for the evening and the backroom business was running smoothly, supervised by Roger, Lou sped home and parked her bike in the gravel next to the old gold Toyota. The night was clear and cold, heralding the first weeks of autumn, and she relished it - more for Debbie than herself. Debbie loved the changing leaves, the brisk wind off the bay, the occasional thunderstorm with rain lashing against the high windows of the loft. She loved the lengthening nights, too, the quiet, the dark - perfect for passing through crowds unseen. Debbie’s mood had improved as the temperature dropped, and the nightmares or flashbacks or whatever they were had become even less frequent. Lou felt triumphant every morning that she awoke with Debbie wrapped around her for warmth and simple comfort, rather than for protection from the shadows in her mind. 

Lou unlocked the door and stepped inside the dimly lit warehouse. The light over the stove was on, and the only other light in the room was a small LED on Beatrice’s tank next to the barometer. As Lou passed she heard a rustling sound from the snake as it raised its head to watch her. Lou flipped off the light in the kitchen and made her way up the stairs by the diffuse light of the single streetlamp by the road outside. 

“Hey, baby,” Debbie called, just as Lou reached the balcony. Her voice was warm as the light pouring from the half-open bedroom door. 

“Hey!” Lou replied. “How was your--?” 

But she didn’t finish the question because she’d reached the doorway and saw that Debbie had lit dozens of candles and that a small table, standing between the bed and the dresser, held a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket, two glasses, and a piece of paper. Debbie was standing behind it, wearing a simple black dress. One of her hands rested lightly on the dresser, and Lou could tell that she had been tapping her fingers against the wood, waiting for her. 

“Always need to have the last word, don’t you?” Lou marvelled. 

Debbie flashed a grin. “Maybe. Always figured I’d be the one to propose, so the least I could do was--”

“--this?” 

She nodded and pulled a fountain pen from the bodice of her dress. “It just needs signatures. Nine Ball said she’d take care of the rest.” 

Lou raised her eyebrows incredulously. “Don’t we need an officiant and witnesses?” 

“Like I said, Nine Ball’s handling it.” Debbie stepped around the table towards Lou and held out the pen with a wink. 

“How do you want to do this?” Lou asked. 

Debbie frowned. “What do you mean?” 

“Shouldn’t we say something? For better, for worse - all that?” 

“Doesn’t sound like us.” 

“Hm.” Lou smirked at Debbie, eying the pen in her hand. 

Debbie blushed and averted her eyes from Lou’s. “I’m not good with words. You know that. I’m not good at any of it, really.” 

“Any of what?” 

Debbie sighed exasperatedly. “At  _ this _ ,” she said, gesturing vaguely around them.

“Good. It would really kill my ego if I wasn’t better than you at  _ something _ ,” Lou deadpanned. 

“Which is why I figure the less talking, the better,” Debbie shot back, matching Lou’s seriousness. 

Lou nodded slowly, as though deeply considering Debbie’s words. “I think you’re better at it than you think you are.” 

Debbie shrugged impatiently. “Maybe. Can we just--?” 

“You’re smart,” Lou went on, cutting across her. “You’re smart and gorgeous and based on tonight, you’re truly a romantic at heart.” 

“It’s just a few candles and pulling some strings, nothing too compl--” 

“I’m trying to make a vow, here,” Lou interrupted. 

“Oh.” Debbie blushed again. 

“Debbie.” Lou stepped forward and took the pen from Debbie at last. She laid it on the table, on top of the marriage license, and turned back to Debbie, taking both her hands. “You’ve been my life for twenty years now.” 

“Almost twenty,” Debbie corrected her. 

“ _ Almost _ twenty,” Lou agreed with only the slightest hint of an eyeroll. “I’m going to make sure you’re my life for the next twenty years, too, and twenty more after that, and forever, really.” 

Debbie blinked rapidly, and Lou felt a swell of pride that she - and  _ only  _ she - could make Debbie eyes well up for entirely happy reasons. “Lou…” Debbie whispered. 

“I love you,” Lou said firmly, without a hint of sentimentality, just truth and all the nuance - frankness, romance, passion - that came with it. “And I’m never going to stop.” 

Debbie squeezed Lou’s hands. “That was good enough for both of us, I think,” Debbie said in a rough voice. 

Lou’s heart beat high in her chest and her eyes burned. “Kiss me?” she asked. 

Debbie took a step forward. Lou could feel her warmth even through her leather jacket and suddenly wished she had removed it downstairs. She wanted Debbie closer and even a few millimeters of fabric felt too far. A second later, however, Lou lost track of things, because Debbie was kissing her and wrapping her arms around her neck. Lou deepened the kiss for a moment before Debbie pulled away. 

“Ready, baby?” 

Lou nodded. “You should go first.” She sniffed and wiped her eyes, aware that her mascara was probably already running.

Less than thirty seconds later, the license was complete. “It’s not official yet,” Debbie said. “I have to wait for Nine Ball to enter it into the system, and--”

Lou silenced her with another kiss, nearly knocking over the little table and the champagne as she pressed Debbie against the dresser. The pen clattered to the floor and rolled under the bed. Debbie’s hands fumbled with the zip of Lou’s jacket, tugging it open, and Lou hummed her satisfaction. She drew it out, tasting a hint of salt in the kiss from her tears, or perhaps Debbie’s. It was a little messy, a little unorthodox, but that was  _ them _ , wasn’t it? It would always be them. 

The champagne came later, as did promises from Debbie that she could only bring herself to articulate when they were whispered into the soft skin just behind Lou’s ear. Lou didn’t mind. Debbie had always been more interested in stealing rings than wearing them, and Lou would wear the rings she stole for all the years to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beatrice is a real snake! She's a ball python that belongs to one of my friends. At one point, someone asked me to write something where Debbie and Lou got a pet (a cat? I think?). Anyway, I couldn't really imagine either of them with a conventional pet, but a snake felt right, so I asked my friend if I could borrow Beatrice's likeness for the story. If the anon out there who requested the pet story all those months ago reads this, I hope this fulfills your wish, even if I changed the type of animal. :)
> 
> I hope the ending was cathartic after such an angsty story. Thank you all for sticking with me! 
> 
> I do have more Heist Wives stories in the works. Specifically, I am working on a kidfic sequel to my Gravity crossover series, "Don't Let Go." I am also expanding some of my RPF stuff, which is not on AO3, but which I will send you if you ask for it on here or on Tumblr. 
> 
> All that said, my production level has been a bit slower. I am in grad school and working, and on top of that, I just found out I'm pregnant! My wife and I have been trying for a while, so we're very excited to be welcoming a new member of our family in September 2021. 
> 
> Never fear, I will be continuing to write. In the meantime, feel free to send asks on Tumblr, comment on things on here, and request PDFs of my RPFs or my heistwives headcanon. Much love to everyone in this fandom! You're all so lovely. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are much appreciated! Please tell me what you think! <3 <3 <3
> 
> ***
> 
> Chapter titles are from "Touch Me Fall" by the Indigo Girls, which is the sexiest song ever, according to my wife. 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hqq2ofGhDTg 
> 
> The title of the fic comes from the oratorio "A Child of Our Time" by Michael Tippett, which has nothing to do with anything in this fic, but the words fit.


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